The Sweetest Wine
by nints
Summary: Yes, I was another piece in her game and I knew it. She did use me. But she payed me for my time. And money was something I desperately needed to keep my kids alive. So as long as she payed me I would stay, and I would have sex with her. Brittana. AU.
1. Chapter 1

"_No! I said a _small town_, Snake_!" the loud voice was only muted by the heavy wooden door. There was a pause, as she listened to whatever the reply was.

I stood naked in the hallway outside of the room, leaning lightly against the ivory wall right next to the door. She had sent me out a couple of minutes ago, when her server had come over on the intercom to tell her a call from San Diego had come through.

She was furious. Her minions knew not to call her unless someone was dying. Nevertheless, seething, she politely requested my leaving the room for a short while so she could set the perpetrator straight about his unwelcome interruption of her private activities.

The call had been going on for a few minutes now, and I jadedly look out of the window at the end of the hall. The clouds outside broke with rays of sunshine, alerting creation to the rising sun. It must be around five in the morning, now. The birds would be awake soon, informing the world further that it was time to wake up.

"_Well he won't do me any good if _San Diego_ is his idea of a fucking small town_!" she shouted from the inside of her room.

"_No! You listen to me, Snake, I—no, boy, shut the fuck up when I talk to you! You tell that _twat_ to call me—well of course from a pay phone, you _idiota_, what, you want the feds to listen in on my conversations? Of course you're sorry! Now listen closely—tell the motherfucker to call me. No, tomorrow! What do you take me for, you stupid fucker, _of course today_! Yes! Right now! Go find that bitch, and relay my message to him. Tell him I expect a call from him in the next hour, or I will personally fly down there to put a fucking bullet in his head, and serve his brain as a delicacy at my next party! In the next hour, Snake_!"

It's always amazed me how much she could yell. Her voice never got tired, it seemed, and it never started to crack from over—excretion of raising her voice, whether it was from rage, annoyance, or pleasure.

The call was ended, and I heard the phone being slammed down into its home roughly. She would come get me now. Any second, she would appear in the doorway and beckon me to continue our earlier activities.

The house was warm. It had an almost tropical climate which was carefully regulated by her main control room. I had never been inside of her control room, but I would think that it would look like one of those rooms you see on TV, surrounded by monitors showing endless feed from several cameras outside. Her house almost reminded me of that Disney movie about that state-of-the-art house which eventually turned out to be evil and wanted to be a mother...

"I apologize." her voice was pure velvet, breathed so close to my ear that I jumped.

"No problem." I muttered, because, what else was I to say? She put her hands lightly on my shoulders and turned me around to face her, studying every inch of my face with dark, blazing eyes.

"We should get dressed," She decided with an air of finality. "I'm expecting a call in the next hour. It would be pointless to start anything just to be interrupted…" Her voice faded as she walked back into the bedroom.

She never did anything without a good reason for doing so, I found, and she always explained herself and her reasoning even when I didn't ask. I was the only one she did this to. Her other associates were better with the least amount of information she could possibly give them. Most people called her paranoid, but when you were of her status you had to be. She explained the whole process to me once, but I was hardly paying attention, so I don't really remember. I just know that her reasoning for telling me is because it helped her to speak her plans out loud, and because a commoner like me could never have the audacity to backstab _her_.

I followed her into the bedroom and stood in the doorway awkwardly, watching her sort out her clothes from mine out of the tangled masses that they were on the floor of her spacious bedroom.

Her bedroom was fantastically simple. A huge, Victorian canopy bed stood proudly against the left wall. The floor was a shiny, reflective white. The walls were charcoal. There was a dresser which was so thoroughly carved with miraculous designs it didn't even look like a dresser. On the ceiling hung a moderate-sized chandelier. The left wall was almost wholly occupied by a huge dance-studio mirror. There were no windows, and only one door leading in and out of the room. The bedroom was nestled in the heart of the house, built meticulously so that no one could possibly attempt an assassination of its inhabitant without walking into the room itself. She even, once, told me that for her further safety she made sure the walls were layered by a three-inch-thick pure titanium sheets, which were covered my an inch of sheetrock on both sides.

"I'd like to see a bullet go through that." She had bragged, rapping her knuckles on the wall.

"That must have cost quite a bit." I mused.

She had waved my point off as though it was an annoying fly. "A small price to pay for my privacy and safety."

It was, indisputably, the safest room in the house. But then, the rest of the house was pretty damn safe too. With guards and several advanced technology bobby traps. Or so I think. I wouldn't put it past her paranoia to set both up. Because let face it, she wouldn't do all of her business in her bedroom.

I finished getting dressed with her in comfortable silence, and once we were both clothed she patted her thighs and smiled at me. "Would you like a drink?"

I actually would have loved one. She once told me that she imports all of her wine right from the vineyards of France and Italy. Vineyards which she owns…

"…_after they arrive here they are tested in the labs, sorted by alphabet, and put in climate controlled underground cellars." She took a dusty bottle of __Nero d'Avola from the shelf, inspecting it expectantly. "Every type of wine has specific characteristics which cannot be overlooked when they are put into the cellars to age. __Left exposed to heat, light, vibration, or fluctuations in temperature __and humidity, all types of wine can spoil. When properly stored, wines not only maintain their quality but many actually improve in aroma, flavor, and complexity as they mature." She explained, her voice taking on a warm, factual murmur. She lightly brushed the dust from the bottle and looked to me, smiling._

"_Shall we test the flavor of this one?"_

I really wasn't a huge fan of wine. Except dessert wine. She, however, I had quickly found, was not only in love with it, but was in the business.

"_My great-grandfather was a bootlegger during the Prohibition Era, you know? Made millions. He worked in the vineyards in California before the era began. Then, when his vineyard had closed, he took to making his own wine." She was not completely sober, I could tell so by the loose way she gripped the grass with her drink, and flailed it around while she told her story. _

_She often told stories when drunk. Stories about her history, her family and all of their money-making exploits of the past. It was hilarious, really, how she would get so into the stories that she would start mimicking voices, and scrunching up her face to show the various emotions of her characters._

"_After the era ended, my family was one of the largest providers of wine in the country. My great-grandfather died at the age of fifty-three. Passed the family business onto my grandfather, who screwed all of his hard work up, the bastard." She sneered and took a large gulp of wine, making a satisfied _ahh _sound and continuing. "After that motherfucker died, thank God, my father took it all over. Not easy, you know, building back a wealth that was in ruins because of my grandfather. My father managed to do it though." she looked proud, and took another swig of wine. "My father was not the most successful businessman, though. I helped him out, a bit. Now, its mine. And as you can see," she gestured wildly around the mansion. "I have made quite the profit from my business deals."_

I was zoned out for so long, that the only thing which brought me back was her waving a flute of champagne in my face. I jumped slightly and she smiled apologetically.

"Sorry to startle you. You want it? You never responded."

I shook my head. "No thank you."

She shrugged lightly and drained the whole glass. "Suit yourself."

* * *

"I'm home." I shout into the apartment as soon as I cross the threshold. I pause, waiting for any noise at all to let me know that I was not alone.

"Momma?" my youngest, Timmy, is the first to greet me. He looks half asleep, rubbing his blue eyes with a tiny fist.

"Hello sweetheart." I bend down to him and scoop him up easily. He doesn't weigh much, even if he is around four years old. "Where's your daddy?"

Timmy shrugs. "He's asleep."

I make a nonchalant noise and set my boy down again. Artie is always asleep around this time. I don't know why, because its not like he does anything all day but watch TV and eat. I guess being a lazy ass takes lots of mental concentration.

"Go back to bed, baby." I tell Timmy. The blond boy shrugs and shuffles away, disappearing in one of the two bedrooms in the apartment.

Artie and I got married seven years ago. I guess if someone told me, on my wedding day, that seven years later my children would be near starving, my husband would be a lazy ass, and I would have to work two jobs (one of which was to basically sell myself to an undoubtedly criminally linked millionaire) just to make sure there was a tiny amount of food on the table, I would have walked out of that Goddamned church, away from my wedding, in a heartbeat.

But no one told me that. So I married, and was pregnant a month later with my first daughter.

Being pregnant was one of the most gratifying things that has ever happened to me. It was amazing, even with all of the unpleasant side effect. Artie was frantic, too, never leaving my side for more that a couple of hours when he would have to go to class, because he was studying to become an engineer. He nearly lost it when I went into labor, but the moment he got to hold her for the first time, he looked at me eagerly with tears in his eyes, and whispered "I want another one."

So a popped out another one. Another girl, Traci, who was around six now, and then another, Timmy.

After that, Artie was satisfied. I think he wanted a son all along, and that's why he was urging me to keep getting pregnant. Well he got his son, whom he now probably doesn't even care exists. He graduated, barely, but couldn't get a job. After a while, he just kind of gave up looking for one, which brings us back here, where he is a lazy slob who doesn't do squat.

* * *

There were many parties on those fateful summer nights at her house.

In her multicolored gardens men, women, girls, and boys came and went like ants. It rained champagne, there was music, and nine foot solid ice statues, and chocolate fountains the size of full grown men, and waiters scampering around with trays full of unearthly delicacies and flasks of any liquor one could name.

On weekends, in the afternoons, I watched her guests diving from the tower of her raft, or taking the sun on the hot sand of her private, manmade beaches while her dozen motor-boats slit the waters of the her private manmade lake, drawing aquaplanes over cascades of foam. Her Hummers became omnibuses, bringing parties to and from the city between nine in the morning and long past midnight, while her Land Rovers scurried like a brisk black bugs to meet all of the in-flights which carried the ones who didn't live in the driving vicinity. On Mondays dozens of servants, including extra gardeners, labored all day with mops and scrubbing-brushes and hammers and garden-shears, repairing the havoc of the night before.

People were not invited to these extravaganzas. No one was, but a few of the very rich who often flew in for the parties on their private jets from D.C., L.A., Chicago, New York, and Detroit. Everyone who wasn't invited just kind of _came_, because they thought a party would undoubtedly be here. Their musing was never far from the truth.

The lavishness of these affaires soon clued me in on how well-to-do she really was. Far passed the millionaire status I had her pegged under. Maybe multimillionaire, even, one who didn't hide her wealth from the rest of the world.

In the midst of these scandalous incidents, she was often found talking to her associates, the ones who flew in by private jet, about many of business deals and goings. She would laugh, and tell outrageous stories to entertain her crowd. On other nights she was to be found leaning against the railing of the balcony of the upper floor, which contained bedrooms, and looking over the crowd below with an almost angrily possessive look. And yet still on others she would be standing by the front door, waiting for _me_ of all people, just to take me through the crowds, introduce me to several blurry faces with mute names, get me tipsy on champagne, and take me upstairs for a wilder time that any of her parties had ever accomplished.

One Saturday I came as per usual, expecting to see the masses of cars and swarms of people in her lavish front yard, but instead the number was reduced to just her Hummers and Land Rovers and several other types of SUVs which regularly occupied the main driveway. The house was calm and quiet with no signs of party. The bottom of the four stories was lit, indicating life, but no silhouette of dancing people occupied the windows.

Confused and cautious, I shuffled to the front door. She had told me to never ring the bell, reasons of which I never understood, but right now I felt unwelcome in her ever familiar house. My hand made motions towards the bronze button, but before it could make contact the heavy Verawood front door swung open.

"Ah. It's you. Come in." her words were slurred, but she was not drunk if the sharpness of her eyes had anything to say about that.

"Don't you have a party today, or is it already over?" I asked, confused.

"No, no," she did a careless, fluttering wave of her hand. "I have private guests today. Follow me." she was restlessly impatient, for some reason, and took my hand to lead me through the house into the back business room, which had an enormously long, slender table in the middle that was framed my three dozen identical office chairs. One wall, the right, was complete glass and gave a fantastic view of rolling hills, docks, bays, and beaches which she owned.

One would think that this room would be more guarded and wouldn't have a wall of pure glass where creation could see her business deals, and possibly stage an assassination, but she told me once that her guests liked natural light, and she was more than willing to show off her fantastic assets.

I had been in here several times. She often did business in this room. That, and _other_ things.

The men around the table looked like thugs. Half of them were decked out in showy business suits and pure gold jewelry, with slightly smoking cigars hanging from their lips. The other half were in suits too, but looked prim and proper. Amongst that half, I recognized some as politicians and White House delegates. They looked much older than her or I, maybe in their mid-forties and fifties, and their mutterings were quieted when we entered the room.

"Gentlemen. Good to have you." she addressed the crowd.

I immediately felt flushed. I had on my party wear, which included a skimpy blood-red dress, there wasn't a place for me among old, corrupt men but when I made motions to leave, she grabbed my hip and steered me to a chair right next to the foot of the table, where she would undoubtedly be sitting. I crossed my legs self-consciously, and noticed several of the table members leering blatantly.

"So. Let us get to our first order of business..." her voice faded away from my mind as I tuned out, instead looking anywhere than the probing eyes of men almost twice my age.

She talked for a long time about God knows what. No one was paying attention to her though, because all eyes were trained on me, and one glance in her eyes told me she was pleased that they were. Eventually, she split the meeting up, and her guests took their cigars and coats, drained their liquor, and made their way out of the room to get in their expensive cars and drive away.

"Ah! William! Could you stay for dinner?" she called out to one of them, a tall, thin man with a mop of curly brown hair who was one of the eldest out of the whole group.

He smiled, dimples showing, and chuckled at her antics. "Of course." he said before exiting the room with the rest.

Once we were alone, she turned to me and grinned dazzlingly. "That went extremely well!" she chirped. "Those grandpas looked like they had never seen a sexy woman before." she laughed joyfully. "The bastards didn't pay attention to a word I said." she placed her hand on my knee. "Always pay attention in a business meeting, Brittany, or else you will be cheated out of millions of dollars. Like they were today."

I knew she was immoral. I had quickly found that out from our in-bed activities. I didn't know she was a crook, though, who used people for her own benefit. I guess I should have made the connection sooner to save my feeling the way I was right now. Like I was used. Another piece in her twisted game.

But hadn't I been used all this time? She and I had sex on a regular basis. Sex which she _payed_ me for.

"Hey," she cooed. She gripped my chin and turned me towards her. "Did I do something wrong?"

I didn't respond, looking blankly at her. Her smile disappeared.

"What's wrong?" she asked. I shook my head.

Yes, I was another piece in her game and I knew it. She _did_ use me. But she payed me for my time. And money was something I desperately needed to keep my kids alive. So as long as she payed me I would stay, and I would have sex with her, and I would be used by her, because I had to do what I had to do for my children.

"Nothing. Just thinking about some things. Shouldn't you entertain your guest?"

Her whole face lit up. It was strange.

"Oh! Yes! I want you to meet him. He was my father's best friend and strongest tie in the White House. He's a good family friend..." I stopped listening and let her drag me out of the oppressing room by the hand.

* * *

**Whew! **

**What do you guys think? There'll be more coming.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Aww! You guys! Thanks for all of the amazing feedback! Jeez, you readers sure know how to make an author feel good about herself. I think that's the most feedback I've gotten in any of my other fics. And this one's only in its first chapter! Anyway, here is the next chap. Keep the comments rolling!**

* * *

It always puzzled me why she decided to settle here. Dalhart was located near the northwest corner border of Texas, and was home to less than ten thousand residents, clear away from _everything._ It didn't have the flashy, sky-scraper appeal of Dallas, or the fast life of any big city in California, or the fountains of Orlando—which would have been a good choice for her because she liked water—or any of that stuff. No, it was a small town clear away from anything exciting. I remember asking her this once, but she got off on a crazy tangent about alcohol and wine and business...

_"My family lived in the West for years and generations. In California." she explained as a butler poured wine into her waiting glass to the near-brim. "They were, as I told you before, in the wine business. Did you know that California is home to 49 percent of the total wineries in the U.S.?" She laughed joyfully, but I could see no humor in what she was telling me. I chuckled awkwardly. _

_"Anyway," she continued after chugging a quarter of her glass of wine in two big swallows. "The West has great conditions for producing the wine. However, I never liked California. Too busy." she made a face and gulped some more wine. The glass was only half full now. "Now, Colorado, Alaska, Wyoming, Delaware, North Dakota, Wisconsin, Montana, D.C., Nevada, and New Hampshire are the ten drunkest states in the United States. Out of them, D.C., unsurprisingly, buys the most wine. New Hampshire is the drunkest state, in that it charges no state tax on the alcohol. I could live there, but I don't enjoy the climate." she mused. "Texas is away from pretty much everything, which I enjoy because I hate to micromanage my businesses." _

On Monday I came to the house as per usual. She had had a party the night before, one extra extravagant to make up for not having one Saturday, so double the workers were hired to clean after it. For a long moment I stared at the scurrying gardeners who were hauling large black trash bags and picking up bottles and cans and plastic plates smeared with half-eaten food, wondering how much it really cost her to hire nearly forty people to clean up her messes. I guess if she can afford to throw such lavish parties, she can afford to hire a ton of people to clean up after them too.

I walked up to the front door and entered without ringing the doorbell. It still kind of freaked me out how she knew I was about to ring it the other day and caught me before I did. Maybe if I rang the doorbell guns would pop out and point at my face just like in that episode of the _Fairy Odd Parents_ I watched the other night with Timmy.

"Hello?" I hollered through the massive house. Usually she's sitting in one of the bulky, overstuffed armchairs in the foyer, waiting for my arrival, but today the house was strangely quiet accept for the brushing of several cleaning instruments against the marble floors as the housekeepers scrubbed away at the residue of food and drink which was spilled by careless guests the night before.

Mondays are always my favorite time in her house, because nothing happens on Mondays here. The cleaners and gardeners arrive early in the morning, around eight, and leave close to noon because, after a long night of partying and champagne, that's when she wakes up, and in her hung-over haze she could get awfully violent if her house is not clean before she comes back to consciousness. After the housekeepers leave house is oddly quiet accept for the distant ringing of phones, which could be heard almost everyday if one was to listen hard enough. Lots of people wanted to reach her, apparently, but instead they got one of the five or so full-time operators which take messages for her. Strict current business calls are the only one which are passed on to her.

On this particular Monday I arrived extra early, but not before noon. She would undoubtedly be awake now, wouldn't she?

I checked my watch, and double checked the towering grandfather clock a foot from the front door. Almost two.

I pulled over a young butler whom I recognized from my visits. "Is she still asleep?" I asked him.

The man tugged on his white jacket and pretended to remove microscopic pieces of lent from it, probably to delay answering my question. "No. Miss Lopez left this morning to go to the airport. She has a flight to D.C., which should be landing about now." He chuckled lightly. "You should have heard her when they called her to tell her they couldn't find the type of fuel that her jet took. I think she broke one of those vases over there." He pointed to the pathetic remains of one of the two small vases that had decorated a French table.

"_I see you're admiring my vases." She breathed into my ear. I jumped slightly, amazed at how silently she could walk. I bet she was a ninja in her past life._

_I nodded. "They're really pretty."_

_Her hands slid around my abdomen. "Aren't they? They cost me nearly half a million dollars combined." She grazed my shoulder with her teeth. "Simply delightful, how something the size of my head could cost so much, hmm?"_

"_They're pointlessly expensive."_

"_They're _beautiful_." Her tongue peaked out and brushed my neck. "Like you."_

"They're brown." I muttered to myself and giggled. It always confused me why people payed so much for vases. Especially vases which were made from clay by some Indian tribe somewhere or something.

The butler chuckled. "Quite ugly, no? Oh! She left an envelope and a note for you in her bedroom."

I nodded quickly and shuffled away from him to the broad expanse of stairs to my left. My heals clicked on the white marble floors as I briskly made my way up the stairs and turned right to go the half circle of balcony to her bedroom. Once she told me that the balcony was kind of a memento to the villa in _The Sound of Music_, one of her favorite movies.

I touched the bronze doorknob lightly before entering the room. It was amazing how dark it was in that room if you didn't have the wall mounted lights on. I guess windows do make a huge difference.

The envelope was lying on the tiny, circular bedside table. I walked to it purposefully and opened the crisp wrapping. The letter and a check for six hundred dollars lay inside. That was funny. She payed me extra?

**Brittany,**

**I apologize for kind of skipping out on you today, but William insisted I go to D.C. with him on business. He said there are some new, young delegates which I might benefit in currying favor with. I have the check for you, paying for the two days that I will be gone, and a little extra. Consider it an early birthday gift. I will see you on Wednesday. **

I frowned quizzically at the paper. What was I suppose to do for two days? Sure, I could go home, but there really was nothing at home except an indolent husband and a huge stack of bills which I didn't want to pay right now. The kids were all in some sort of daycare until five, so I couldn't bother them. Or could I?

With this money, couldn't I take them out somewhere? Even if it was just for two dollar ice cream. I hadn't had a good day out with my babies in months. We could walk to the park just a few blocks from the daycare they stayed at, get ice cream, and watch the dogs chasing Frisbees and balls. The kids loved animals. Alisha had been asking for one since her fourth birthday three years ago. She was coming up on eight, too, which meant the questions would start any day now.

I put the note and the check into my purse and walked out of the bedroom.

* * *

The weather was perfect. A slight breeze blew the saltiness from the ocean, (which was like, 700 miles southeast of us, but whatever.) and settled at our town. She came back in the late afternoon from D.C., and stopped by the restaurant which I served at. I worked at one of the finest restaurants this town had to offer, so it was only natural for her to take her esteemed guests there. The guests in question were several sleek-looking young men, who were barely into their twenties, in suits. She didn't even bat her eye when I walked up to the table with a notepad and pen.

I did my standard name introduction and asked for their drinks. Most of the men ordered hard liquor, but when I turned to her she was eyeing the wine section disapprovingly.

She sighed. "Your wine stock is drastically cheap and limited." she tutted, but when I met her eyes they were gentle and laughing. "But I suppose I'll order a bottle of Chardonnay. Which, may I point out, is very common and not at all significant."

I smiled, partially because of her attitude and partially because I was suppose to, and wrote her order down. I left wordlessly, not wanting to interrupt the conversation one of the young men had began with her.

She didn't make it easy for me to serve her. She complained openly about the food and wine every chance she got. Most people would most likely perceive her as being arrogant, and I did for a while that night, but one look into her eyes told me she was amused and was openly putting on a show for her company, most of which were now drunk off their asses and not trying to hide their leering eyes as they wandered all over her body. It was obvious that this was what she wanted to accomplish, because that dress left little to imagination.

Was this just a show? A clear playing of her mind games with her young, inexperienced victims? The men were obviously well-off, and I wonder where she had picked them up. There was no doubt in my mind that she would be a couple of million dollars richer by the end of the night. After all, if her mind games could fool old men, they could definitely fool young boys barely in their twenties. All she had to do was maybe get them drunk (done) and sweet-talk them, or maybe even give them a little something something, although I doubt it would come to that—she would never sleep for money.

Near the end of the meal she caught my eye and held it for a long second before excusing herself and making her way toward the bathroom with a definite sway of her hips.

* * *

"You should come to the house tonight and have some champagne with me." she hummed into my ear.

The restroom was deserted, and as soon as I walked inside she made quick work of pushing me inside a stall and pinning me against the door.

"I don't actually like champagne that much." I commented as she sucked on my neck lightly.

She froze and pulled back, frowning at me. "You don't?" I shook my head. Her frown deepened. "Well, why didn't you ever tell me? I could have offered you something else."

"I mean, its fine. It's just not my favorite thing." I defended lamely. She frowned even deeper, if that was possible, and took to studying my face sharply.

"Well, I wouldn't be a good hostess if I didn't appeal to my guests' needs." she mused, looking to the ceiling. She snapped her quizzical gaze back to me. "What _do_ you like to drink?"

"I don't like wine," I stated. Her exaggerated gasp of horror made me snort. "I actually prefer drinks where I can't taste the alcohol at all." I mused, and she nodded quickly.

"I have great recipes for drinks like that at my house." she informed me. "I get my butlers to make rounds on restaurants, asking for their drinks. You wouldn't believe how many of my guests enjoy fru-fru drinks." she made a face and rolled her eyes, as if the concept of people actually preferring those drinks to good, hard wine was annoyingly pathetic to her.

"Anyway," she continued smoothly and leaned close to me. "You should still come. Now if you'll excuse me I have guests to entertain."

She left me standing in the stall in favor of her so-called guests for the dozenth time since I've know her. I guess big shot D.C. boys were more appealing than me.

* * *

When I came towards her house that night I was afraid for a moment that it was on fire. Nine o'clock and the whole area behind the trees that surrounded her estate was blazing with light. The light fell dreamlike on the shrubbery and made long, thin glints upon the roadside, drawing the shape of the trees as it leaked through every opening in the branches. Turning a corner I saw, much to my relief, that it wasn't on fire, just lit from tower to cellar.

At first I thought it was another party, but there wasn't a sound except the loud melody of the crickets and the wind in the trees, which blew the branches and made the lights go off and on on the road, creating a little dance. As my taxi groaned away I saw her walking toward me across the lawn.

"Your place looks like the carnival," I said.

"Does it?" she turned her eyes toward it absently. "I have been glancing into some of the rooms which I barely use. Guest bedrooms—don't know why I have them, really, no guests of mine really stay the night. Shall we take a drive?" the question was strangely sudden—we never went out of the house when I came over. For a long moment I stared idiotically at her, but eventually I slowly shook my head.

"It's too late."

"Well, suppose we can swim in the swimming-pool? I haven't made use of that area _personally_ all summer. Guests like it though, get compliments about it every weekend." she nodded, but with no pride of any kind.

"No. That's alright. Why don't we go inside?"

She hummed, if only a bit disappointed, and turned toward the blazing house like I.

"I never noticed how many windows there are." I mused quietly to myself, transfixed all of a sudden in the yellow light.

"Indeed," she agreed. "It's actually more than I originally wanted to put in for fear of breach of security, but my contractor told me it would look strange if I had the four small ones that I desired." she waved her hand in that careless fashion.

We made our way up the gentle hill which her yard took, in silence. The night was warm. It felt like the type of night in which you wanted to stay outside. Maybe that's why she had asked me, then. It was a flattering sign, her wanting to stay out with me, because her paranoia was so intense that many times she didn't step foot outside for weeks in a row. Not even to greet her outside-dwelling guests who came to her infamous parties.

Sometimes I wondered if there was something wrong with her, because she had intense surges of paranoia which came and went unexplainably. Maybe some psychological mishap, or something. Maybe something happened in her childhood which cause her to feel like she was going to get shot when she stepped outside, like a sniper was hiding in the trees or something. As if. Why would somebody want to shoot her? Had she ripped off powerful people who were now lustful for revenge?

We made our way to the front door and she opened it quickly, stepping inside the cool dwelling with an appreciative sigh. I could tell that being outside was irking her, because as soon as she crossed the threshold her face smoothed and the muscles in her back relaxed.

"So," she clapped her hands together. "what shall we do?"

I made sure to close the door behind me, turned to her, and shrugged.

"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly. "I've got to get a bottle of wine. I hadn't had a good one since I left D.C. The wine at your restaurant is simply atrocious."

She wandered off towards a phone in the other room to call her butler while I settled into the living room and inspected the semi-familiar space. It was adorned with Louis XV paneling and had two sections which were marked by the square shapes built out of red and black leather sofas, armchairs, and loveseats and was framed by large, colorful Persian rugs. In the middle of these sections stood a proud, beautiful Louis XVI coffee table which looked too fancy to _just_ hold people's drinks. Especially without coasters. The walls were a bright but soothing yellow and the floors were a handsome, dark wood of some sort.

She came back after a few minutes and sat down close to me on a love seat. "The drinks should be up in a minute." she informed me.

I hummed in response, looking wondrously around the living room once more. "This room is exquisite."

Her eyes scanned the area without interest. "I've always disliked what my designer did to it, but my father was a huge fan of Louis furniture, and I did want this to be a memento to him." She mused, almost to herself. "I much prefer Victorian." She declared almost as an afterthought.

"How much is this house worth, anyway?"

She shrugged. "People told me…" she trailed off, obviously trying to remember the number. "Around thirteen million, I believe. It has eleven bedrooms and thirteen full bathrooms, and one half bath. It also has a six car attached garage and an elevator. Not to mention…" she cut herself off sharply and looked to me, seemingly hesitant to continue. I reassured her with a nod. "It has a library, two executive offices, a game room and a theater with over seven hundred films." She hurried this part out; as if she was afraid I would take offense in her possessions.

"And all of that is worth thirteen million. _Just_ thirteen million?" The number seemed offensively low for the amount of things it stood for.

She shrugged again. "That prediction was made in oh six, right after this house was built. It's probably gone up several figures now with the recent inflation. Which is funny, because I heard that the housing market is actually lowering prices drastically." she raised a quizzical brow and tipped her head to the side. "And anyway, the figure is not a representation of the personal items like furniture. Most of the money is in the land, too. This house stands on over four acres, not including the lake."

The butler came, one who looked like all butlers in movies with white hair, a hard face, and rigid posture, and set down a bottle of red wine, a wine glass, and my drink, in that order, on the coffee table. I almost winced, because, once again, _that poor, beautiful coffee table_!

My drink looked professionally done. It was like a yellow smoothy with long, swirling streaks of red breaking it up. The rim was perfectly layered with sugar. It looked so beautiful I didn't want to drink it, or at least take a picture of it's perfection before I did.

But it was to either drink it or let it sit there, losing its beauty as the colors mixed together and sweating on the table. The second option I did not like at all, so I brought the sugary rim to my lips and got a taste of pure Heaven. That is, if Heaven tasted like the perfect smoothness of mango mixed with the sourness of strawberry.

I didn't even know I had closed my eyes until I head a giggle and had to open them.

"Finally you drank it," she applauded and I flushed at her dramatization. "I though you were going to stare at it forever."

she giggled again—an odd noise when it came from her mouth, but not necessarily un-pretty.

We sat around the living room, making small talk until I finished my drink and told her I needed to go home.

"Take one of my cars." She did the careless wave the second time that evening. When she saw my mouth open to argue she quickly added, "I have an extra one that does not fit under the six car garage…probably because it's my seventh, but whatever. I want you to have it. I haven't driven it for…well, I've never driven it." her words were slow and slurred, the weight of the alcohol and the ten o'clock night beginning to take its effect.

"Anyway, please do me a favor and taking it off my hands. Oh, and come back tomorrow so that we can do transferring of the papers and junk for it."

I had no argument left, so I accepted the first of many big gifts from her.

* * *

**Oh yeah! Almost 4,000 words in two days! Like. A. Boss.**

**So I think I want Mondays to be my official update days, now, for this story...so look for it. =D**

**Until next Monday!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sooo, slightly angsty beginning to a slightly angsty chapter. I honestly don't know where it came from, but I feel writers block creeping on the corner of my consciousness and I'm trying to fight it by continuing to write. **

**P.S. you're welcome for the early-by-a-day update. I just finished it today and _had_ to get it out for you. So much for sticking to the Monday update schedule, eh? I promise next one will be here Monday.**

* * *

That night I drove home in one of her cars. She had a large variety of cars in her garage: Land Rovers, Hummers, Jeeps, and one of those new Ferraris, the four seat one, which I saw a commercial for the other day.

Her butler, the young one I spoke to about her whereabouts on Monday, had escorted me down a winding set of stairs into a heated garage, which honestly looked like a ballroom. The floor was not concrete, but marble: long, sleek, and black. The walls were a pale, baby blue and had actual paintings on them. There was what looked like a small bar on the left, its countertop matching the floor, and an impressive expanse of alcohol lining the wall behind where the server would stand. Bottles of rum, wine, vodka, whiskey, gin, and tequila sat neatly on the shelf in multicolored glass bottles, as well as various fruit flavors, with which to make mixed drinks. Three bar stools, which strangely resembled wine glasses, sat neatly at the bar, waiting to be used.

"Wow…" I had never seen such a meticulous garage before in my life. Was this how the other half really lived? I mean, sure, she had a huge house with furniture which came from the ideas of the Kings and Queens of foreign lands, but to so much as make a _garage_, one of the lowest, dirties rooms in the whole house look like a decent lounge was beyond my understanding.

The young butler, who I forgot was there, snorted loudly at my awe — struck, dazed exclamation of wonderment. My head snapped to him in time to see him eyeing the room with such intense scorn that one would think he was looking at a hairball threw up by a cat, or a rotten banana peel.

"Foolish, isn't it?" he made a wild gesture around the room. "It's like she doesn't have anything better to spend her money on. _A bar in a garage_." He sneered violently, top lip curling. "The economy is in turmoil and she…" he stopped talking, seemingly unable to finish, and almost shook with rage.

I didn't comment. Maybe it was kind of insensitive of her, but it _was_ her money. And as far as I was concerned, millionaires had done worse things with their money before, like burning it to keep warm in winter. It was paper, after all. Just a special type of paper with a special symbol printed on it. No real measure of wealth, or years of sweat and hard work, but at the same time it was everything our lives were about nowadays. You needed it to survive, that special paper with a special symbol. It drove people mad, made brother kill brother, made mothers sell their children, made women and men and girls and boys do unspeakable things. And for what? A special type of paper with a special symbol on it. Handed out by the government. Drilled into our minds, dreams, and futures forever as something we need to acquire fast, and lots of, for us to have even a semi-good life.

"Anyway. Take your pick." He had calmed down now. His voice was bored and heavy, and I wonder where he wanted to be right now.

Everyone wanted to be somewhere else, it seemed. Except children. Young, innocent children who had yet to fall into the trap of adulthood and money and greed. Children who were driven by love and were discontent at times, but always looked for the bright side and found it. Children who didn't care about money—weren't ruined by it—didn't know what it really was yet. Children who one day would care and would be and would know.

I cleared my throat. "Give me that one." I said, pointing blindly. My throat was closing with the promise of tears. But why tears? Why did I suddenly feel like crying?

I didn't know where all of this was coming from. I was happy. I had three beautiful kids and a loving husband. I didn't complain. Why would I? I had a source of income and a roof over my head. Was it just the human nature to want more? To have The Life. The private lake and the eleven bedroom house and the parties?

No. That was a fool's dream. Or the dream of someone who knew they had the money.

Like her.

I watched as the young butler went straight across the room to the small painting hanging on the wall next to the bar. He opened it (?) and shuffled some stuff around before retrieving a single key. The key had a small white tag on it. He pulled off the tag and held it out for me.

"It's yours now." he said gravely and I felt like I was being handed the key to an estate by a dear friend of someone who had recently died. I hesitantly took the key and he retracted his hand, turned on his heals like an army sergeant, and walked to a midnight blue Land Rover. He waited at the door for me, and when I got close to him he pulled it open and waited for me to get in. He closed it behind me once I did and lingered awkwardly there. I started the car rolled down the window.

"What's your name?" I asked with curiosity as the car hummed beneath me. He was such an imposing character, very interesting. I couldn't have known two days before that he was like this, or I would have asked earlier.

He looked at me for a long time, studying me as if he couldn't make up his mind about me, but eventually "Trent." Fell out of his mouth.

We shook hands through the half rolled window, awkwardly. "How long have you been working for her?" I asked.

I needed to get home. I don't know why my mouth kept sprouting questions. Was it the need for a companion? Did I feel lonely subconsciously? Or was I just impressed with him for standing up against the conventional societal admiration of the rich?

"About six months. My second day was the night you came over for the first time." He replied matter-of-factly, almost gravely, as if the subject of him working for her for this amount of time made him angry. It probably did.

I hummed. "Really?"

"Yes." He glanced back towards the stairwell as if he was suddenly anxious to leave the garage. We exchanged a few more words of small talk before I let him go. Our conversation was getting stale anyway.

* * *

Artie was clueless. I felt really bad for him, because he actually was a good guy. In the early years of our marriage, he would fix me dinner by candlelight on the weekends, when I would come home from work we would snuggle on the couch and he would ask me about my day. I felt bad for what I was doing to him...even if the cause was justified. But then, didn't people do this kind of thing all the time? It was just like I said, people do unpleasant things for money.

Although, what I was doing could not be counted as being unpleasant. Just the queasy feeling that I had done something unforgivable to him, to my husband, whom I had pledged to love and be faithful to almost eight years ago.

I wondered often how he would react if he found out. He was a level headed person and didn't resort to violence. He would probably be disappointed, maybe disgusted. But would he understand? Would he realize the core reason I did it? Would it change his outlook on himself? Would he change and finally start supporting me, us, his family? I hoped so. I prayed to God he would.

But if he found out, what would that mean for us? I hadn't made my mind up if I would personally forgive him if our roles were switched. I had played an endless string of movies behind my eyelids about the million ways it could go, and a million overall outcomes once everything was out in the clear. Could our relationship survive it? Could he ever look at me again the same way, or touch me the same way, knowing I had been someone else's on the side?

Maybe thinking about this was not good while driving, since I wasn't a very good driver anyway.

I got home in around ten minutes, parked the car, shut it off, and tiptoed into my apartment, silently closing the door behind me.

I checked on my kids, all asleep, went across the hall into Artie's and mine bedroom, stripped and crawled in bed. I felt like a robot, but at the same time like the weight that I always seemed to have when I was on her estate was lifted off my shoulders. I knew ultimately that this was my home. No matter how difficult my situation was, this was where I belonged—in bed with my husband with my children sleeping soundly in the room across from us. Millions of dollars and eleven bedroom houses with private lakes be screwed. I had my private Heaven.

* * *

Thursdays were, if I had to rate it on a scale, one of the busiest work weeks of the whole five. Thursdays and Fridays. Thursdays were special. Different. Very organized. Thursdays were split into two equal, seven hour parts. The first half of the day was saved for strict business. People came over, stayed for a breakfast, or a brunch, or some wine, or just a regular meeting in the business room, and then left. Fridays were devoted to the party preparations, so Thursdays had to be open to tie up business deals and serve as an advertisement for the parties on the weekends.

Beginning at eight in the morning, simply because she refused to get up before eight, even on the weekdays, large, black, official SUVs started to arrive at her door. Men in suits went in and out of her elegant home all day. Well, until three, that is, when all official business was closed down and all of the black cars left for the day.

Then came the first glimpses of preparations for the weekend parties, which was like a huge business deal within itself. Extra cooks, and caterers, and decorators came to set the work in motion. They all left at the end of the day, of course, but the work that they did in seven hours was spectacular.

The many shrubs and trees in her huge back yard were meticulously decorated with white lights to give the yard an almost Christmas/New Year appeal. On Monday those lights were taken down, because keeping them up, according to her, was redneck. Huge frame tents were set up and decorated with white lights on the parameters of the yard, they would come to serve everything from goose and steak to pizza and french-fries once the party actually begun. In the house, in the main hall, a bar with a real brass rail was set up, and stocked with gins and liquors and cordials so long forgotten that most of her guests were too young to know one from another and usually resolved to drinking them all.

Around five a large moving van brought a set of twelve foot speakers. One would be put on the inside of the house and one on the outside. They boomed music loud enough for the ground to start humming under your feet, and for the people who didn't come to the party to hear them and want to.

That day I came a bit early, I had been doing that a lot lately, around two forty. The business part of the day was not done yet, I knew, but as far as I assumed I was welcomed anyway.

I parked the Land Rover next to a sleek, black, small car, and went inside. Trent greeted me at the door with a fake smile.

"Come in." he muttered, even if I already was inside. He looked pained, startled, and I wonder what happened to him. His eyes were full of anguish like someone in his family had died.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing." he said unconvincingly. "Miss Lopez has some guests right now." he informed me in a scripted tone.

"I'm aware. May I see her?"

He looked lost, but nodded meekly. He led my to the living room. The twenty foot doors were closed, but Trent pressed the intercom button and spoke softly.

"Miss?"

There was a long pause before "Yes? What is it?" was barked out impatiently.

"There is someone here to see you?"

On the other end there was a sigh before a careless, "Let her in."

I wondered briefly how she knew it was me. Or a _her_, nonspecifically.

Trent hesitantly pushed open the huge doors and gestured me inside. I walked forward uncertainly, letting my eyes adjust to the bright colors of the living room.

She sat in one of the furniture squares, the one on the left side—opposite from the one we took last night. She looked tense, leaning forward over the coffee table with her forearms on the top of her thighs.

Three men sat across the coffee table from her. Three very _eye-catching_ men. Men who, at one glance, would believe to be a part of a freak-show in the circus.

One was green. Literally. One of the first things I saw about him was his hair. It was growing out of control and dyed completely green. He was thin and long, bodily, with a bony, sly-smirking face, sharp, leering eyes, and enough piercings—of which remained only holes—to make Swiss cheese jealous. I wondered why his piercings had been taken out. Maybe it was per her request. In all of her prim and properness, she didn't exactly seem like the type of person to enjoy looking at people whose face could fill a jewelry store.

The next one, who sat on the love seat next to the long couch she occupied, reminded me of a lightning bolt—or someone who had been stuck by one. His hair stood straight up and was dyed an electric yellow with blue highlights. He was plumb, with a rosy, nervous face and jumpy eyes. He seemed to vibrate in his seat, resembling a toddler hyped up of pure espresso. He wore a pin striped suit, which surprisingly fit him as if it was personally tailored.

The last one wore all black. He wasn't as flashy as the first two; his hair looked wet from gel and was slicked back. He was in tune with the Goth culture, it seemed, for he had lots of makeup on—ghostly white powder on his face and heavy black eyeliner. He was tall, lean, and looked relaxed in is environment, if a bit closed off with both his hands and legs crossed tightly. His brows were furrowed and he was scowling deeply at something.

I stumbled into the room, wondering if it was too late to excuse myself and wait in the parlor or her room or anywhere but here, but the huge doors closed behind me with a neat click—one would think they would be louder, what with their size—and I was left standing awkwardly in the room while four pairs of eyes stared at me.

She recovered the quickest and motioned me to sit next to her on the couch.

I didn't know if that was such a good idea. I didn't know these men, or the business they were into, although I suspected they were circus freaks and their manager.

Nevertheless I shuffled over to the couch and sat gingerly on it.

"Do you want something to drink?" she was ever the elegant host, ready to ignore her imposing company to welcome new a one with the promise of liquor.

I noticed that these men did not have any liquor in front of them on the coffee table. I wonder if her offer was turned down, or even if there was one.

I shook my head slowly. "No thank you."

She cocked a brow but said nothing. The men across from us sat blinking patiently, waiting for their hostess to notice them again. She did only moments later and cleared her throat lightly, as if my interruption hadn't happened.

"I would like you to meet some associates of mine." It took me a while to catch on to the fact that she was actually speaking to me.

"That's Snake." She declared, pointing to the green man. He cocked a brow and smirked, but didn't say anything and didn't extend his hand for a handshake.

"Over there is Seth." She motioned carelessly to the Goth man, who looked quite a bit older than the other two.

"And this is…" she trailed off, cocking her head to the side and surveying the jittery man on the love seat. "Zip." She decided.

The room was filled with snickers, mostly from Snake—although I saw Seth snort and smirk a bit before looking away again.

It was obvious that this was not their real names, and that she wouldn't make an effort to learn their names even if they were introduced to her.

I nodded politely to them as a way of greeting before she lightly slapped her thighs and stood up. She was wearing a simple black pantsuit—hot—and her hair was done up in a complicated form for which I had no name.

"Well I think we're just about done here, right, gentlemen?"

All three stood at once—it was strange how practiced they were—and Snake extended his hand to her, but said nothing. She took it gingerly and bobbed it up and down only once; as if she was afraid he carried some sort of contagious disease.

They left silently, not even acknowledging me.

As soon as the door clicked behind them she turned to me and smiled. "Hi."

I was confused. She was always a woman on a mission with her words and actions. Something as simple as a monosyllable greeting was not productive enough for her. Especially since I hadn't just walked in.

"Hello?"

"How are you?"

She was also not one to engage in small talk. I don't think she ever asked me how I was, or how my day was, because honestly it's not like she cared. After all…

_"…words are there for a specific reason. Lots of them. People of business, like I, don't use pointless greetings and small talk. Those things tend to set you back, and there are only so many hours in a day. Think of all of the time people waste on pointless things like asking 'how was your day' or something." She scoffed. "It's unbearable."_

I guess she never cared enough for someone to ask them that with actual, wholehearted curiosity. But she seemed pretty interested, so I shrugged and said,

"It was alright."

She smiled at me. "Thats good."

_That's good_ was not something people said when someone was having an _alright_ day. She was obviously new to this.

We sat in slightly uncomfortable silence for a while, before the huge grandfather chimed three in the distance and she sighed out.

"Finally. It's over. Lets go get something to drink."

Her tone was really relieved, which was funny because it almost made it seem like she hated her business time. I guess earning money got old after a while.

* * *

**Hey!**

**Hi!**

**How are you?**

**Happy Sunday!**

**How was your weekend? What'd you do?**

**Did you have a good Mother's Day? I got up at 7:34 to fix my mom breakfast in bed :) what'd you do, hummmm?**

**Anyway, say hi to your mom for me.**

**...actually don't do that...she doesn't know who I am...that'd be, like, _Supaweird._**

**Until next Monday, readers. Don't forget to comment and tell me about your weekend and how awesome this chapter is! =D**


	4. Chapter 4

**Enjoy.**

* * *

I remember when I first met her. It was around half a year ago, in the December. I was invited by a friend who is the mother of a little girl who goes to school with Ali, my eldest, to go with her to a night club in Amarillo, which was only half an hour from Dalhart. I was skeptical at first, but accepted eventually.

The night was great. I hadn't danced since high school, and if I was being true to myself, it was my first love. I had missed it. My friend and I eventually slowed down to get some drinks and stumbled our way to the bar on weak, overexerted legs. I remember ordering a margarita, being handed one, and being told that the rest of my drinks that night would be paid for by the kindness of the owner, who had seen me dancing and was impressed.

I didn't think much of it except the fact that I still had it when it came to dancing. It was flattering, and I asked the bartender who the owner was. He smirked and threw a thumb above his head, motioning to the overhang of the VIP area.

"He's up there." He said carelessly and went back to his job.

For a moment I debated not going up there. After all, that place was usually filled with grimy, hairy millionaires and their dozens of whores, who crawled all over their laps, or at least that's what I saw in movies. But then, how could it hurt to go up there and thank the owner for my drinks? It wasn't like he would rape me or something. And even if he did come on to me, I could use to excuse of not hearing him over the music and get my ass out of there.

I took the steps gingerly, my knees still weak from dancing. There wasn't a body guard, which was another indication that the movies were not always right. I crossed over the velvet rope and made those last few extra steps until I stood on the floor of the high rise.

It was interesting. I had never been up in a VIP room before. The whole room was radiating red from the small lights which outlined every angle and dip in the walls. There was a long corner couch extending along the left side, as well as several other seats scattered around the area. There were several people there, all dressed in club wear and holding large glasses of liquor in their hands, several not to spill it on their immaculate suits or dresses.

Like I had originally suspected, there were skimpy girls most of who were sitting next to or on the laps of their mack daddies. I didn't know who the owner even was, or what he looked like, or why I had even come _up_ here.

"Hi."

I should have known that it was unavoidable from that very first syllable. Her voice was steely and reserved just the right amount, but not enough to drown out the human emotions. It gave me chills. Her voice was alluring and sexy with a renounced confidence and yet never ending boredom, like the elegant room around us didn't impress her. It was husky and clear and previewed what she would say next. It still did.

I had spun around to her quickly, almost jumpy. I took in her blood-red cocktail dress, made glowing by the matching aura of the very room we stood in, her dark features and her hair, which rested simply on her shoulders. It was the same length it is now, because now I know that her personal barber comes to check on it every week and see if it had grown and clip it away if it has.

She stared at me patiently, waiting for a counter greeting, while I raked my eyes up and down her dress. It was pretty. Almost as if it was specifically tailored only for her body to wear. It was expensive. That's when I knew that she was a woman of money.

"Hello." I stumbled out. She smiled at me, one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, which you may come across four or five times in life. One of those smiles that made you look around the room for the target of it before realizing it was you, and blushing with skepticism. I had never had that smile directed at me before.

"I saw you dance." She continued conversationally. There was a small glass table next to her, I saw, and on it sat an abnormally large glass of wine—filled to the brim. Next to it sat the bottle. It was opened, but full besides what had taken to fill up that glass.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "You're really good. Do you do it professionally?"

I almost laughed. Of course I didn't.

I shook my head.

"No?" she tutted. "Well that's a shame."

There was a silence between us then, but only for a little bit, before she pointed to my drink and asked, "What are you drinking?"

I looked to the drink in my hand. I didn't remember what I had ordered. I just knew that it was some sort of margarita. I told her such and she smiled at me again.

"Can I buy your next one?" she asked casually. It was a question which had only prepositioned itself to me by a male voice. I didn't really know what to say; until I remembered the real reason I was here in the first place.

"A-Actually, the owner has covered all of my drinks for tonight. I'm actually looking for him. Do you know where he is?" I looked around the area. Several men where there, all looking rich and important, he could have been any of them.

"Yeah I know him." She sounded reluctant and snappy and a bit dejected, like the concept of me accepting drinks from a scumbag like him displeased her. She waved her hand carelessly then for the first time in our relationship. She waved it towards the corner of the corner couch, where a small crowd of women was gathered.

"Thanks." I muttered and walked away from her.

The club owner was a thick, hairy man in a white suit and enough jewelry around his neck and fingers to fill a store. I think he watched too many gangster films or something. When I approached him he smiled like a snake and spread his arms in some sort of declaration of welcome, as if he thought I would run into them.

I was careful not to come too close before I shouted, "Thank you for the drinks."

The man surveyed me for a split second, as if he didn't quite know who I was. Eventually his smile spread, showing shiny golden teeth. Nasty. What kind of a white man got himself grills?

"No problem, darlin'" he croaked over the music. "You dance real nice."

He was openly leering at me, which was something that I've never gotten used to no matter how many times I was exposed to it. I started to slowly shrink away, not responding. The man gestured me over.

"Why don't you come over here? Tell me about yourself." He smiled again, malicious and sly.

"Leave her alone, Clay." she ordered, exasperated, appearing at my side. The owner—Clay—gritted his gold platted teeth but didn't say anything more. The woman—I still hadn't gotten her name—scoffed at him openly and turned away to walk back to her seat. I followed her hesitantly and stood while she surveyed me after sitting down again.

"You should be careful around those pigs." She said in a low voice which I barely heard over the music. "Those bastards think a little money gives them the right to do whatever the hell they please." She growled with pure contempt.

I didn't say anything, because what could I say?

She leaned back in her chair and waved her initial disgust away with a flutter of her hand for the second time in ten minutes, and looked to me again.

"What's your name?" she asked with so much brass force that it sounded like an order.

"Brittany." I didn't clarify further, but she seemed to not want me to for she nodded.

"Nice to meet you." She didn't introduce herself to me; I think it didn't seem to strike her as being something that should be done as part of customary human communication. Either that or she was trying to remain mysterious.

"You too." I muttered. She wasn't paying attention to me now, instead looking to the dancing people below us. The music had changed now to something that I didn't recognize. Probably some song that I knew which was so far remixed that it didn't hold any recognition with me anymore. She turned back to me.

"That woman you were dancing with earlier. A friend?"

She had been watching me?

"Yes."

"Hmm," She hummed, turning back to the crowd below us. "She looks too drunk to drive. Actually, so do you." she mused, and turned to me again.

"Do you two want a ride home? I'm just about done here, and she looks married, I don't want her to make a mistake with some dude she doesn't know while drunk." she grinned at me, as though to say that this was inevitable. I glanced at the crowd below us and saw what she meant.

Needless to say, the rest was history. We became friends and I visited almost every day. On New Years we had sex for the first time. It was kind of surreal, and the only evidence of it the next day was our lack of cloths, several hickeys and bites, and a deep bone, whole body soreness.

I was no stranger to sex with women. I had fooled around plenty in my youth, but _then_ I didn't have a husband.

* * *

On Thursday, about an hour after Snake and gang left she requested we go visit her car dealer. She told me that she had decided the night before that it would just be easier for her to sell the car she gave me back to the dealership and instead give me free reign to choose my car from their stock, which she would pay for.

"They have quite a big stock to choose from. SUVs, crossovers, trucks..." she informed me on the way there in an almost bored voice, as if her dealership didn't impress her in the slightest. It probably didn't.

She didn't drive, I found out that day. Her butlers were acting chauffeurs for her, because she found driving a stressful waste of time, and because she didn't trust cars. Upon deciding that we would visit the dealership today, she quickly had selected the closest butler to us, which happened to be Trent, to drive us there. He had been nervously hovering around our general vicinity all day, strangely, as if he was afraid to get too far away in fear she would have something for him to do and he wouldn't be there.

It was funny, in an odd way, how he was all of a sudden so eager to please her. It once again brought up the question of what happened to him that made him so eagerly obedient suddenly. After all, this _was_ the same guy who had blatantly criticized her not twenty four hours before.

Trent was a smooth driver. He handled the car well for someone his age, as if he had been specifically trained to do so. He probably was. He pulled the car into the dealership effortlessly and parked it flawlessly with a few quick turns of the wheel. I could never even dream of driving that well.

He stepped out of the car first and, after turning the ignition off, scurried to open both mine and hers doors. Artie had opened my door for me a handful of times, mostly around the time in which we dated. I enjoyed being catered to so wholly, which seemed like a jerk thing to say, because it made me backtrack and scold myself for some reason, as if I didn't enjoy my life without the catering.

"I will go talk to my dealer," she declared, eyeing the main building. She slid her eyes to my face. "You can walk around and look at the cars around here to see which one you want." She glanced at Trent. "Go with her and make sure the sellers don't bother her." she almost suggested this, as if he had a choice. "I hate those annoying motherfuckers." she added as an afterthought with a nod.

When she disappeared inside of the main building, Trent turned to me and grinned. It was interesting to see him smile, I never had before. It made him look years younger, more carefree. He couldn't have been over twenty, I bet, and I wondered why he was stuck being her slave instead of off in college.

He didn't say a word to me, instead turning on his heels and walking towards the beginning of a long line of large cars across the lot. I fell in stride with him as we walked in silence.

"So I guess she never asked—what kind of car are you looking for, anyway?" he questioned.

I shrugged. No she hadn't asked me that. She didn't find it necessary, I think.

"An SUV would do." I muttered. "I need something that will fit five people."

I was momentarily terrified, because I actually hadn't meant to say that. She didn't know about my life outside of her mansion, and I never volunteered to tell her about it, and she never asked. The way I saw it, we had a no strings attached arrangement, so she didn't need to know.

Trent's dark, thin brow arched of half a second—so quick I would have missed it if I _wasn't_ staring at his face. But I was, so I saw it. Thankfully, he didn't comment.

We walked together in semi-uncomfortable silence along the row of large cars in different colors. Afternoon, around this time, was always my favorite time of day. It always had a surreal, quietest-before-the-storm feel to it. Business usually ended around five, bringing in a swarm of cars from wherever it is they worked at. Mostly from 385, which one could follow down and turn on I-40 to go into Amarillo.

"What do you think of her?" Trent sighed, as if the question had been weighing on him for a while. He didn't look at me, keeping his eyes ahead when I glanced at him. He was considerably taller than me, so I couldn't look up to him for long.

I was interested as to why he asked the sudden question, maybe because I thought he didn't care before.

"I…" I trailed off. What _did_ I think of her? I had never asked myself that before. I tried not to think of her as much as possible for the sake of not being so confused all the time. She was a rather confusing person—aloof and private, but oh so courteous and studious about others. I didn't think she was a bad _person_, frankly, but how would I know for sure? She was manipulative, obviously, both of herself and others, and her pleasurable attitude could all be a ploy—nobody wants to do business with an unpleasant person, right?

"She seems too careful." I decided. I turned my eyes back to him for a split second to catch him nodding. "Like, she doesn't want to reveal who she really is."

We walked in a contemplative silence for a long time, then. I wasn't even paying attention to where we were going or the shiny new cars in front of me, because it was so good to have someone to actually talk to about her, I realized with a jerk. Brainstorming was a good way to try and figure her out, and I desperately needed to figure her out for some reason.

* * *

Friday came as a windy, pelting storm. It was a shock to most—our area of Texas didn't get barely any precipitation, and the night before had been hot and dry and clear. I drove over to her house in my new…whatever the name of it was. An older butler, the one who brought her our drinks the other day, came out with two umbrellas, one of which was obviously for me.

"You shouldn't drive in this kind of storm, ma'am." He chuckled, barely audible over the drowning rain. I gave him a small smile, unsure of how to take his…suggestion? Scolding? Comment?

He held the umbrella over my head and we hustled inside. It was a short walk—her driveway extended right to the front door, after it twisted and swerved through many patches of random landscape. It was shaped confusingly, with lots of turns and splits off of it, all of which led to dead ends, doubtlessly to confuse people who didn't belong on it.

We stepped inside the foyer and he moved the umbrella from above me, shaking the rain off before folding it and standing it in a mahogany umbrella stand.

I looked around the octagonal foyer, expecting to see her—why was she always in the foyer?—but I didn't. The house was alive with music, however, some sort of classical symphony.

"She likes to drown out the rain with music, if she can." The butler explained, stepping beside me. "The sound of a storm gives her a migraine, she claims."

He seemed strangely knowledgeable about her habits. I wondered how long he had been her butler.

"Where is she?"

He looked around the foyer, patting down his overcoat. "In the meeting room, no doubt." He muttered. His brow rose as he looked to me from the side of his eye. "She likes to watch the rain from that wall of glass in there."

Without my request, because it was obviously not necessary, he led me through the house. He walked beside me, not ahead of me, and was quick to open doors for me—all of the doors we encountered along the way were oddly closed, as if to convey that every room was busy. Once we were at the closed door of the meeting room he knocked with one sharp rap which could be obviously heard over the rain and music.

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, before a barely audible, "Come in." was ordered.

The butler pushed open the simple wooden door and I stepped inside.

She was lounging in one of the chairs, veered around and facing the wall of glass. She held a teacup in her palm, one which looked to belong on display, not to actually hold tea. I don't know why I was surprised anymore—more than half of the things which she actually _used_ looked to belong in museums.

She glanced at us through the corner of her eye before looked out towards the rain again and holding out her cup to the butler.

"Bring me some more Earl Grey, will you Collins? My head is killing me." Her voice teetered on a whine, even if it was sharp and ordering. She clutched her head, rubbing her temples hard after the teacup left her hand. I stood awkwardly next to the door, unsure if I was welcome to see her in this state.

"Sit." she sighed. I sat in the chair next to hers, also turning to look out the wall of glass. The back yard had an eerie look to it—the pelting rain creating a grey curtain almost like fog over the entire area. The wind had calmed down, no longer blowing the trees, but the rain still had a sway to it as if dancing.

We didn't talk more until the butler—Collins—came with her tea.

"Pull the weather report up?" she requested, gesturing to a laptop sitting next to her. She was getting worse—her face was drained of color and scrunched up with eyes shut in pain, or maybe it was concentration. They looked the same to me.

Collins made his way over to the Toshiba and opened the lid, typing in the security code—which was painstakingly long and made out of several letters and numbers, I saw—and pulled up the report.

"Looks like it's going to be stopping sometime around five today." He huffed, slamming the laptop shut.

"Ahhh!" she moaned. "Not so loud!"

It was almost comical to see her this way. She always had an air of control around her, and she never scolded her butlers in front of me for doing something wrong. Now, with undoubtedly blinding pain, she almost turned into a whiny five-year-old.

"Where is he with my Sumatriptan?" she snapped, glaring outside.

Where was _who_?

Collins squeezed her shoulder lightly with a brittle hand. "Drink some tea, Madame." He cooed.

He seemed close to her. I had never seen anyone put their hands on her so openly, much less her servants.

She brought the cup shakily to her lips and took a silent sip. Had she ever slurped as a child? What was her childhood really like? Was it stupid to want to know these things?

She never told me anything, I realized. Sure she talked about where she grew up, her family history. But she didn't tell me if she had any animals, or where she went to high school, or anything. Nothing _personal_. Did she even trust me? She must have on some level—who would have sex with someone they didn't trust?

Would it be a breach of our unspoken contract to ask about her life? Did it violate our no strings attached arrangement?

Did I even care?

The double doors swung open silently. I saw them out of the corner of my eye and turned my head.

Snake, dressed in simple jeans and shirt and soaked through strode in urgently, breezing past me.

What was he—?

"Here," He sounded serious. I turned my head to him as he slipped pills into her mouth and tipped the teacup for her to drink. She took a little gulp and rested her head on the headrest of the chair, tipping her chin up to the ceiling with her eyes still shut.

She sighed. "Sit down, Snake."

He sat on her left, concerned green eyes on her and the teacup still in his hand. He must wear those colored contacts that freak me out, because nobody's eyes were _that_ green.

"Have you said hi to Brittany?" he whispered after a while, eyes still closed. She sounded pathetic, as if speaking out loud was a huge feat for her. Then again, maybe it was. I had never had a migraine before.

He slid his freaky green eyes to me in puzzlement, "Hi?"

I had never gotten a good look at his face before. He was handsome. White teeth and a square chin and cute dimples. His piercings were missing, again, but I actually didn't mind. It would obscure his face.

"Nice to meet you." he holds out his hand and I shake it.

"I like you tattoo." I say, glancing down. His whole forearm was covered in scales like that of a snake; they seem to continue up his arm, past where he has his shirt rolled up at his elbows.

"Thank you." he was polite, something one would not guess if they saw him out in the grocery store of something.

I retracted my hand, setting it on my lap. Snake's eyes slid back anxiously to her pale face once more, and we sat in silence. Literal, actual silence, I realized. This room must have been soundproof, because I neither heard the wind and rain outside nor the blasting notes of the music inside clearly. Both were muffled, muffled to a degree where you couldn't even recognize them as being what they were.

"Hmmm." She groaned pitifully, breaking the silence. "I'll have to cancel the party tomorrow. At this rate the lake will undoubtedly flood."

"At this rate you won't be having any parties for the next two weeks." Snake growled.

She popped an eye open, glancing at him with an aggravated glare.

"This is you fourth migraine this month." Snake continued hotly. "What happened to slowing down and taking it easy, like the doctor said?"

She snorted. "The doctor doesn't know shit about my life. I've got a business to manage; I've got to keep up with my stocks, I've got to entertain guests." Her head snapped up from its reclined position on the chair's head rest. "He just has to come in to work every day and see his patients and maybe do some paperwork. Then he goes home and all is fine and dandy." Her voice was climbing up in volume, now, and I was starting to get a bit frightened. I had never heard her yell before.

It was amusing how little she knew about the job of a doctor. Surely she had dealt with them before.

She inhaled, as if to calm herself down, and when she spoke again her voice was controlled and calculating once more, like always.

"I can't just _take it easy_, Snake."

It was the first time that I saw her break down like that. It was surreal, almost, how for so long I was internally probing myself and wanting to know her as a person, and now I backed away when I saw my first glimpse of the conflicted person she really was.

It made me wonder, for a moment, if she had a reason for being so run down emotionally. Who was she trying to please and prove herself to?

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Sorry it took, like, two weeks to update. I've been super busy with...stuff. Hope this semi-long chapter makes up for it.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Heyy. I'm back. Oklahoma was awesome, so awesome I might feature it in this story further on down the road...maybe as one of their dates. ONCE THEY DO GET TOGETHER. Sorry guys, but this will not be that chapter. I've read stories before where it took the characters, like, 20+ chapters to even kiss, so don't complain. ;P**

**Anyway, hereyago.**

* * *

"You should come to France with me."

The request and wording of the proposal was so familiar it threw me off. There was confidence behind this request, and always a bit of arrogance, as if the questioner knew I would say yes. The voice that breathed this particular question was the off part, however, and I almost cringed at the different undertone than the one I was expecting.

"You're going to France?" I asked conversationally. Snake grinned, probably knowing that I was delaying answering his proposal, but delighted to play along anyway in my steering the conversation.

"Yeah. Santana and I are taking one of our two annual trips down there to…" he waved his hand in a very familiar careless fashion, "check on her grapes, or something."

It was a cool afternoon Monday. It rained several times during that weekend, off and on. The rain had apparently been the product of a massive cold front coming in out of nowhere and intermingling with the warm air—thus producing precipitation. Or at least that's what the weather man on the morning news said.

"Do you go with her every time?" I continued absentmindedly.

We were sitting out in the back veranda, which overlooked the patio and the massive backyard. She had been with us until a few moments ago when she got a call from D.C. and left with an irritable huff. It was truly a tiring charade to watch her leaving in the middle of conversations and even business meetings to answer those calls, but at the same time it was comical—if she hated answering them so much, why did she tell the people on the other ends to call her?

"No, not every," he answered simply. "She would never admit it, but she hates going anywhere alone. And I'm usually just kind of around…" he trailed off, making a lazy, wide gesture to indicate the house behind us.

"So you live around here?" I wasn't interested in whether he lived here or not, truly, I actually just wanted the back story on his relationship with her. I suspect he was close to her, but in what way, I didn't know yet. I was kind of itching to find out.

Snake shrugged. He seemed to be fond of doing that. "No. I have a penthouse in Dallas, but I travel a lot as part of my job."

I didn't respond, instead looking over to the patio. It was, like everything on her estate, immaculate. The floor was made up of hexagonal slabs of black stone. In the ground there were round openings with Cape myrtles protruding out into the morning sky. Small modern chairs and round coffee tables littered the ground underneath these trees, obviously set up for nice tea parties or something of the sort. The whole patio in general was very modern and looked awkward in the presence of such a classical, Victorian-style home.

"Anyway, can you come with us?" he eventually sighed, bringing the topic right back around. I glanced at his face, which wore a satisfied smirk, as if to communicate to me that, no, he would not be steered off of his propositions that easily.

Oh well, it was a worthy shot anyway. It actually usually worked with her—you ask something about her possessions or her family history and she will spill it out for you, while of course finding a way to tie it all back to _wine_, and forget the previous topic of conversation.

But maybe that was just for play. A person as smart and conscientiously careful and cunning as her couldn't possibly be inclined _that_ easily, could they?

"I can't." I sighed, distracted.

He rolled his eyes, hard, getting annoyed. His tolerance for rejection, it seemed, was thin at best. Kind of like hers.

"Come on. You deserve a break. Just leave the kids with your husband."

I froze. He knew I had kids and a husband? Did that mean she knew? How did _he_ know anyway? I had only met him literally not even a week ago.

He smirked at my dumbstruck face and rolled his eyes again.

"Quit freaking out. I've read your file. Everyone in this house has read your file. Mrs. Brittany Susan Abrams," he started to quote, his voice borderline mocking. "Formally Pierce. Married to Mr. Artie Abrams. Didn't go to college. Three kids, names as following—"

"Stop." The single syllable was spoken with so much force it might as well have been shouted. She appeared in my line of vision, looking controlled but impossibly pissed. I saw Snake shrink a bit in his chair out of the corner of my eye as she towered over him, seething.

"I think," she spoke slowly, obviously trying to fight flying off the handle. "It's time for you to leave, now, Snake."

He looked like he wanted to argue, and for a long moment his mouth hung open trying to for words but eventually it snapped shut and he got out of his chair without a word.

"You should still consider coming." He muttered with his back to me.

"Leave my estate, Snake." she sighed menacingly, glaring at the side of his face. She was still standing—I think she liked to stand because it made her feel powerful—with her arms crossed tightly around her chest. She looked utterly pissed off, the likes of which I had never seen with my own two eyes before. Usually I heard it, because she yelled a lot, but this—this look was just pure terrifying.

Or maybe I was exaggerating; it wasn't that threatening _physically_, because she was, like, five-foot-four, but anyone who knew the extent of her power would piss on themselves if that look was directed at them.

Snake sighed and walked away. Her dark eyes trailed him until he was behind her, and after the door going into the house slammed behind him, she dropped into a chair next to me. She didn't look at me or talk for a while, maybe wanting me to start off the conversation. So I did.

"You have a file on me?" I said it in a nonchalant way, more like a comment than anything else, even if the context was accusing.

She rolled her eyes and even snorted a bit, as if this was the most obvious fact in the world. How fucking insensitive!

"Of course I have a file on you," she confirmed lazily. I didn't look at her, but I was pretty sure she was checking her nails carelessly. How insensible can one person get? "I have a file on anyone and everyone who enters the gates of my estate." Well, that part was actually not surprising, what with her paranoia and all, but still! "You're nothing special." Her voice took a defensive tone and I finally saw her look at me.

I was numb. Seething with anger, actually, which was a first. I had never been this angry with anyone in my life, and it scared me for a moment. How fucking dare she? _I'm nothing special_? Was this her real personality I was seeing? This conceited bitch?

"So you fuck everyone?" my voice dropped a noticeable octave, conveying my anger without the need to shout. I'm kinda proud of that.

I fully looked at her now, and her eyes widened a measurable degree, but snapped back quickly to her calculated stare once more in a flash. Under her top lip I saw the bulge of her tongue swiping over her teeth as she looked to the side, turning her face to a profile. I saw her thin her lips, pressing them together as though to keep her words inside her mouth.

I stood up noiselessly. "Thank you for having me."

I didn't look at her again as I left.

* * *

I didn't go to her house for three days. Three long, boring days—which further proved to me that even though my visits to her estate were mostly uneventful, they did occupy me and I did actually enjoy them.

She didn't make an attempt to bring me back. For three days, my phone didn't ring. There were no new emails in my inbox. And, more expectantly and therefore surprisingly, no butler or chauffeur dressed in uniform came rolling in his black car up my street with a bouquet of flowers and a short message of apology. I think I was just flattering myself in expecting that, though.

Restless, I cleaned the whole apartment on Tuesday, did some extra work at the restaurant on Wednesday, and finally went grocery shopping on Thursday.

I've always enjoyed grocery shopping. There's a fine sort of peace and wonderment in seeing food, for me, because it is like a well traveled explorer. After all, food is made all around the world. Food is grown in exotic countries, sometimes, and travels thousands of miles just to be put into the grocery stores to be picked up by you and to be eaten.

"Good morning." A figure, familiar in its stance and dress hovered to my left as I, probably stupidly, stared at the mangos.

"Trent," I greeted easily. The butler stood next to me with a tired, warm smile on his face, dressed neatly in his uniform with a beat up shopping cart attached to his hands, almost overflowing with food.

"Is…?" I couldn't finish my question as I stared blankly at the huge cart of food. I had never seen that much food in my life. Was she planning on _eating_ all of this?

"Ah," Trent caught up to what I was trying to say. He gestured at the mountain of food. "It is Thursday,"

_Of course._

"She is going away to France for the next week, and is so having a monster of a dinner party tonight with all of her guests." He continued. He looked back down to the food pile, frowning. "She likes to stock the fridge up, just in case one of the guests looks into it. You know she never has _grocery store_ food in there, ever, on regular basis. This is mainly for show. None of it will really be eaten by the guests." He explained.

"Then, what will happen to it?"

Trent smiled. "She donates it to the soup kitchens. The ministries. They can really use it." he leveled me with a gaze. "Where have you been lately?" he muttered, as if hurt. "I haven't seen you around?"

I should have prepared myself for answering this question, but I didn't, so I stood there like an idiot under his gaze.

"What do you think of her?" I eventually returned, unable to describe exactly what happened between us the other day.

Trent looked taken aback for a second, before eventually tutting teasingly. "Answering a question with a question, Mrs. Abrams, very rude," he scolded easily.

Was he _flirting_ with me?

"But to answer your question, I respect her. Wholeheartedly."

"You didn't _use to_." I countered.

"No. You're right, I didn't. After that night in the garage, I went back upstairs and my boss, Collins, took me into his office and had a _day_ with me. Never seen the guy so angry." He laughed, as though looking back on a fond memory. "Told me I was to respect her, no matter what, because that was my job. I was there to serve her, no to spread rumors about her." He shivered. "Well, I got really mad at him. Told him off. Said she was an arrogant bitch, the whole nine yards." He took a long pause; so long I thought he had ended the story.

"Well, he fired me." Trent sighed, chuckling again. "For like two second he did. Then _she_ came in and saved my ass. Told Collins, 'I'll handle him', and then took me to _her_ office. Have you ever been in her office? It's, like, the most impressive room in that whole house. Anyway, she sat me down behind her desk and told _me_ to control her estate. Then she left." He whistled in wonderment. "Well, she has these three computer monitors on her desk. All three of them had these huge spreadsheets open on them. And on those…millions. _Millions_ of dollars." His voice lowered to a whisper, as though he was telling me an awe inspiring secret.

"And they're all spread out—all over the country. All over the _world_. She gives away, so much money. _Donates_ it. The numbers, on the spread sheet, kept ticking and ticking. There was, like, movement all over that sheet. I didn't know where to look. Then she came back inside the office, asked me if I was overwhelmed. And I was." He paused again. "Then she pulled up my _file_. God, that thing had my whole life on it." he whispered in wonderment. "She started reading it out to me. Telling me all of the ways that she could help my family. Did you know she basically keeps the ministries of Salvation Army alive? She's one of their biggest donors. It was like she was trying to prove to me that she wasn't a heartless arrogant bitch." His story seemed to end there, because he quit talking. It was an odd place to stop, but I didn't push further. Instead I blindly grabbed three mangos—which I probably couldn't afford anyway—and put them into my cart.

"Well, I think I need to go." he eventually said. He swiped his hand in a circular motion over the mountain of food in his cart. "Some of this stuff will surely melt. Walk with me?"

I nodded, and pushed my cart alongside his slowly.

"So what happened between you two?" he asked eventually.

"I got upset that she had a file on me, and didn't tell me." My short explanation sounded like a cheap excuse next to his long, winding story of discovery, and for a second I wondered if I had overreacted and that's why she wasn't apologizing.

But Trent nodded solemnly. "I know how that feels. She pulled that file up on me too, and I was angry."

"But you're her employee." I reminded.

He stopped rolling his cart and leveled me with a knowing gaze. "So are you." He muttered.

_Employee_ was not something I had called myself whenever I told myself what exactly I was to her. Surely it wasn't _that_ simple was it?

"Well, _technically_ you are. But you're also her friend. You're one of her _best_ _friends_. She thinks very highly of you, you know."

She does?

He lowered his voice, looking me in the eye. "She doesn't have many friends, you have to understand. She's very guarded. I think both of you can learn from each other."

We started rolling to the checkout lines again, and didn't speak again. Trent broke off from me to go to another line without a word, somewhere, and I didn't see him go. I was in a surreal state of wonderment, repeating his words.

* * *

When I got home and stumbled into the door with my hands full of groceries, Artie was fuming.

"Hey babe, what's wrong?"

There was a feeling. Something I couldn't quite describe, bubbling in my stomach.

Artie didn't say anything, only pressed his lips together in a harsh line and gestured to a huge bouquet of flowers, red roses, which stood neatly on the dining room table in a blue vase.

I stared at them for a long time. They were extremely beautiful, for some reason. Taller, fuller, _redder_ than any I had ever been given or seen before in my life.

"A man," Artie began in a low voice. "In a uniform, came by and delivered these here." he didn't continue, just sat in his chair with his arms crossed, surveying me sharply. I put the bags of groceries down on the counters and walked over to the table.

There was a card attached to them.

_My deepest apologies, Mrs. Abrams._ That was all that it said. It didn't even have a signature under it.

"Well?" Artie demanded, wheeling up to me. "Who's it from?"

"Nobody. Don't worry about it." my voice sounded flat, even if I was aiming for carefree. I didn't turn to see Artie's reaction to my tone, and made quick work to rip the small card into as many pieces as it would rip into, disposing the shreds.

* * *

**So I think I'll cut this off here. What'd you think? **

**I'm still currently _in_ Oklahoma, but I got it done and now its here. I said it would be longer than usual and it would be epic, but meh, it's neither...I forgot my original idea, so I just pushed this out. Next chapter will be better, I promise.**

**Buy guys, don't forget to review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you guys, for helping this story get over 50 reviews!**

**I know, I know! I've been gone for over a month and there really isn't an excuse for it. I'm truly sorry. This tends to happen w/ all my stories: I just get bored and loose motivation to write them. Oh well. I'm not really a motivated person, so that's to be expected. Sorry again.**

* * *

On Saturday there was a long, sleek, black car with tinted windows so dark I'm sure it was illegal, waiting for me as I pulled up to my apartment building with a car full of kids. I knew, of course, that it had something to do with her. Maybe she had sent one of her butlers, or even Snake, to talk me into coming back to her with a quiet aura of submission like I always seemed to. But the rage still burned inside of me, made thicker by this new development of the sleek black car. The nerve of her, to send someone to my _home_—one of the only places I felt like I could escape her.

But then she must have been pretty desperate to get me back to her if she invaded my home—the place where my _husband_ and _children_ also lived. It was like she was exposing herself fully now, by sending someone over here. What that must have felt like for a private person like her.

I pulled into the only open place—right next to that car—and took a deep breath before quickly getting out to unfasten the kids.

I heard the window behind my back roll down as I was unfastening Timmy.

"Good day, Mrs. Abrams." Her voice was clear and punctuated, and maybe I had been around her too long, or maybe she wasn't hiding it, but I could hear the hesitance behind it. So she had decided to go the whole nine yards and come herself, huh?

I was almost flattered.

"Who that, Mommy?" Timmy wondered, not old enough to know to lower his voice. He cocked his blond head to the side, like a puppy, surveying her over my shoulder as I clicked his last fasten open, freeing him from his car seat.

"It's a friend of mine, hon," I answered patiently, ducking away from him. "How about you go inside and tell Daddy about arts n' crafts today."

Timmy's eyes lit up and he grinned, immediately forgetting about his previous question. It was so easy these days, with him being so young. And, knowing that it wouldn't last forever, I just wanted to bottle it up and keep it that way for as long as humanly possible.

The kids scrambled out of the car, all throwing her quizzical glances as they passed her car. As they made their way across the lot, I saw both the girls take Timmy's hand, so that he was between them. Could I swoon any harder? It wouldn't be that way in a few years. In a few years, their childish innocence would fade into mature cynicism, Ali first, and chances are, they would not be that friendly towards each other.

"Your kids are cute." Her voice commented lightly.

"What are you doing here?" I didn't look at her; instead focusing on my children's locked hands, and even after they had disappeared inside the building I stared at the door they went through as if it would give me the answers to the meaning of life.

"I'm leaving for France tomorrow."

"I'm aware."

"I want you to come with me." She was so _sure_ of herself.

"I can't do that." I answered without a moment of hesitation.

She sighed. "I know."

My head snapped to her. "Then why did you ask?" I had meant to snap this, but my voice quivered with a tired undertone. She just kept playing these mind games, these cat-and-mouse struggles for more of my time and to know more about me, while still maintaining herself above me. Still looking down on me, and telling me she knows the answers to the questions she asks me. Then why does she bother to ask?

"I came here to apologize to you, actually." She said this as formal as I've ever heard her, but she was actually stepping down from her throne for once, admitting the clear-cut reason she did something. I was almost kind of proudly happy for her.

"Yeah?"

She grinned. Not smiled, grinned. I had never seen her grin before. "Yeah." She sighed deeply, as if apologizing was the most difficult thing she's ever going to have to do, and she was prepping for it. I waited, but only semi-patiently as her eyes took their time traveling the expanse of the inside of her car uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry." She said on a sigh, looking at me fully. "For insulting you, saying you were nothing special. You are special." She smiled. "You are a great person, and I honestly don't deserve someone like you." she nodded, as if to justify her reasoning into law. She looked almost angry, eyebrows drawn together with a scowl gracing her features. Her eyes dropped down to stare at the small inch of window peeking out from its slot in the door.

She didn't speak more, probably implying my turn to talk. I smiled softly.

"Thank you for apologizing." Was the only thing I said. I made it a point not to verbalize forgiveness, because that was not at all what I was implying by saying that. I wouldn't forgive her yet.

"It is the standard social response for wronging someone." She muttered. Her eyes lifted to mine. "You don't forgive me." She sighed this very gently, stating a disappointing fact.

"No I do not." There was no emotion in my voice, I didn't regret the fact.

She sighed again and her eyes dropped back to the small slit of window. "Very well." She muttered. After a while she raised her irises back to mine. They were dark and gleaming with stubborn determination.

"Regardless," she waved her hand carelessly as usual. "I won't give up trying to win your favor." She nodded. "Expect more over the top attempts when I get back after France." She smirked wickedly. "We still have a contract." She nodded once again, curtly, her smirk had vanished and she leveled me with one more look, almost a glare, before her face disappeared behind the dark windshield.

As if I thought she would just _give up_.

* * *

When I entered the apartment, Artie was glaring at me. This wasn't a common occurrence by any means, so my first initial reaction was to panic. Had he seen me talking to her? I don't know how he could have accomplished that, but had he? Did he finally piece it all together?

A part of me desperately wished he had. I hated lying to him, I hated sneaking around. But there was a purpose to it, right? She gave me a steady income, something we needed. Maybe if I repeated it enough to myself I could convince both of us that that was _all_ this arrangement was.

Somehow, now it seemed like more. Hell, now it _was_ more. But in what way? What changed?

"You have more flowers," Artie's voice was calm, the yang to the yin of his blazing eyes. "Tulips this time."

I held my breath, waiting for his question. Waiting for the 'who?' or the 'why?', but they never came. Artie only sat in his chair and stared at me, maybe waiting for me to admit it.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. I couldn't just admit it, I didn't have the guts, honestly. I didn't want to rip apart my family, because that was a whole lot more to lose than her.

And so, I smiled at Artie, kissed his cheek and drifted towards the flowers. I didn't even look at the card this time before I ripped it apart.

* * *

The next week was a Heavenly breath of fresh air for me. I think her being away, across the sea, gave me a huge relief. I could get up, take my kids to daycare, go to work and actually come home at a reasonable hour to spend some time with my husband before the kids had to be picked up. It was like I had a family again.

But as the week drew to a close I started to worry.

Would she expect to be forgiven when she came home? _Had_ I forgiven her yet?

I knew I didn't. And it made me sick that she would probably expect me to, but I knew I had to play it like I did. We needed the extra income. So, on Saturday night I drove to her place. Collins was standing outside of the front doors, waiting for me.

"Good evening." He greeted pleasantly as I got out of the car.

"Hello. Is she...?" I gestured to the house.

"No, no. But she should be. Any minute."

I liked Collins. He was a pleasant individual, someone with an aura of serene happiness around them. Someone who, maybe, had seen it all and done most of it and learnt to enjoy life. I found that I was often relaxed around him, even now, standing here waiting for a person that I didn't really like.

The sun was setting in the distance, over the uneven horizon of the trees outlining her property. Her house, majestically, stood on a large hill, I realized. Everywhere around it, there was a steep dip, and then again an incline upwards that stopped to match the flat land around her estate. It seemed almost fit for her to do this to her land, and craft it in this way, once one knew her true personality. Her house, the sole representation of herself, stood above everything else she owned, almost in a faux I'm-better-than-my-possessions manner. This internal attitude was, however, masked by her rigid mask of cool, careless indifference which was like the trees hiding her property.

The insistent rumble of the car engine annoyingly broke me out of my reflective musing—which kind of sucked 'cause I didn't really have reflective, deep moments like that often—and I looked on, slightly peeved but more-so completely panicky, as a long black limousine slowly crept over the hill into my line of vision.

"That'd be them." Collins voiced cheerfully.

The limo slowly turned, following the circle of the driveway until the very last door stopped right in front of us. I watched from my place on the raised platform of the steps as Collins dutifully stepped to open it.

A breath I didn't know I was holding wheezed out of me in relief as Snake ducked out first, dressed in a sleek, form-fitting suit and shiny sunglasses. He would have looked very handsome if not for his green hair, which seemed even greener today, possibly due to his wearing very little color.

He immediately caught sight of me, I knew by his telling smirk, but surprisingly he did not bid me hello or acknowledged my presence, choosing to instead turn back to the open car door and offer his hand for Santana to take, and in a strangely gentlemanly fashion, help her out of the dim depth of the car.

Once out of the vehicle she straightened up, allowing me to do a quick once-over of her attire. The first thing I noticed was her sunglasses, sleek, elegant and doubtlessly worth more than an average middle-class man would see in a year. My eyes slowly traced lower, appreciating the long necklace she had on, the chain of which fell between her breasts. Her black dress was cut just so to accommodate it's length, giving me teasing glimpses of the side swell of her breasts.

Her steps faltered when she saw me. "Brittany," she smiled. "Hi."

"Hello."

And just like that, I'm sure we were back together in her eyes. Whatever 'together' was.

* * *

**So I felt totally guilty for not updating for months...so here...have this piece-of-shit-nothing-really-happens chapter as an apology. More to come later...if you tell me what you want to happen, 'cause I'm running on steam right now. **

**Later.**


	7. Chapter 7

**So! The reviews last chapter, as crappy as it was, were awesome, guys. A lot of you responded to my plea to help me get back into the groove with this story and you did. You presented the questions that I had planned out at the beginning to answer but lost track of over time, questions about Santana's past, and their relationship, and everything.**

**So thanks.**

**Seriously.**

**So without further ado, I give you chapter 8 (7?)**

**Warning: it's gonna get a tiny bit hot. Complaints? I think not. ;) I'm a bit rough ('bit rough' meaning 'I've never written before') on my sexytimes, so you'll have to forgive me.**

* * *

As soon as we were in her bedroom she pounced on me. Literally.

Her legs wrapped around my waist, and her arms around my shoulders as her mouth left hot, sloppy little kisses all over my face. It was almost kind of gross, but more surprising than anything because like with everything, she was very proficient and very neat when it came to sex. She was never desperate or needy to the outward appearance, although the moister between her legs oftentimes said different.

In a way I was almost jealous of her emotional control. In a way I think anyone would be, that is if they did not view her as having no emotion at all.

"I missed you." She whispered in my ear.

I swallowed. She was breaking another one of her norms of barely speaking during sex. She never uttered anything other than instruction on how to please her and breathy little moans. And occasionally screams, if I did really well.

My paycheck also showed considerable increase if I made her scream.

I walked us over to her bed, and she allowed herself to be dropped on the soft surface. For a moment I looked at her. The roles were so reversed today; I never got his kind of view of her, from above her, and I allowed myself to admire her features for a few weak seconds.

She was so freakin' gorgeous. Everything about her was so tiny and delicate-looking, she kind of reminded me of a pixie. Big eyes, tiny nose, full lips, cute little cheeks, and prominent cheekbones. Definitely a pixie. Also she had dimples. Everyone knows pixies have those.

I wonder who she looked like more. Her mother or her father?

"What?" her guarded tone told me my staring had gone from a few moments to a few minutes, so I let my eyes casually travel down her throat, to seem like this was just my checking her out. She liked to be looked at, right? Right?

And suddenly I couldn't remember anything about her. Where she came from (_California_ my mind screamed, but _where_ in California?) What her childhood was like, what she liked to do, what her full name was.

Who was her father?

What was his name?

Her mother?

I pulled away from her semi-embrace, and in her eyes a flash of panicked hurt appeared, if only for a second.

"Brittany?" she questioned hesitantly, as if afraid I was going to tell her I could not do this anymore.

And for the first time in my knowing her my mouth wrapped around the words.

"Can we talk?"

* * *

We congregated to the great room that was dedicated to her father, which made all sort of new questions pop into my mind about him. But I pushed them down because thinking too many things at once made my head hurt.

I watched as she poured herself some wine (what else?) and sat back into the plump armchair. She had changed out of her tight fitting dress from earlier and took off the necklace she had been wearing, I was kind of quietly sad to see them go, and changed into a pair of silk pajamas and an elegant black robe.

It was all strangely homey; the fireplace crackling to the side of us, the way she tucked her legs under herself to get comfortable, the fact that she was wearing _pajamas_. I swear I had never seen her wear anything that was not completely elegant. Granted these pajamas were very elegant, but I didn't even know she owned a pair of those.

Her fidgeting told me I had stared to long. I cast my eyes aside.

"So, what was so urgent that you had to interrupt sex to talk about?" I think she wanted to sound peeved, but the barely inaudible (yet still there) shake of her voice just ruined the effect.

"I—" how should I phrase this? "I wanted to ask you some questions."

She made a noise, a mix between nonchalance and dismissal. "What about?"

"You."

There was a deathly long pause where the only sound was the crackling of the fire in the pit.

"What about me?" he guards, walls probably thicker than the ones surrounding her bedroom had come up. And I heard that in her voice.

"Your history, mostly." I said slowly, so not to discourage her even further.

There was another silence; so long I thought she was going to order me out of her house, but finally she took a sip of her untouched wine. A long sip.

"Alright. Do your worst." She teased after she put the grass down.

"Okay," I giggled and rolled my eyes. She was making jokes though, that was good, right? "Tell me about your childhood?" I made sure to not demand. Making demands never worked with her, mainly because, in her world, _she_ was the only one who was entitled to do them.

"My childhood?" she snorted. "Kind of a broad range of years, don'tcha think?"

She had a point.

"Okay, then, where should I start?"

"Beginning's always a pretty cool place." Her voice echoed a bit inside the wine glass as she put it back down again. She had picked it up at some point to take a drink.

Now it was my turn to snort. "Okay. How were you conceived?"

"Interesting story with that one, actually." She commented, reminiscent. "My father, he never got married, so he paid a woman to carry me for my nine months."

"Why did he never marry?" I asked.

"I don't know," she mused and looked to the fire. "I would like to say it was because he was too devoted to business to have time for a wife, but my father was not that kind of person." She sounded almost humored by this fact.

"What kind of a person was he?"

She shrugged, her eyes still on the amber flames, and I felt the mood turn somber, somehow.

"My father and I," she began heavily after a while. "We never talked about things of our personal lives. We only discussed business. I was the heir, after all. I needed to know the business. And he taught me all that his grandfather had taught him about it. On everything else, I was left to my own devises. So I don't know what kind of person my father was—I never got to know him well enough before I left for school."

"Where did you go to school?" I would dwell on the fact that that was one of the saddest things I had ever heard later.

She took her eyes off the flames and took a small drink from her glass before answering.

"I attended private schools for my primary and secondary education. I went to Oxford for collegiate." She said this with an air of nonchalance, as if getting into Oxford was something of normality in her views, but I was floored.

"Oxford?" I gasped. "As in, the one in England?"

Her eyes twinkled with humor. "Is there another Oxford that I don't know about?"

"No, no, I just—you must have been really smart." I floundered.

"Must have been?" she teased.

"Still are," I rolled my eyes.

She was kind of easy-going, I realized, teasing me about my questions even when it obviously made her uncomfortable. I wondered if this was her actual personality outside of business. Not arrogant, not hard-ass, just funny, just laid-back, just adorable.

"Yes, well, I must say that I was…above my classmates in my secondary education. That's why I skipped from school to school. I became bored. Often times, schools did not challenge me to the highest of my abilities, so my talents were wasted on them." She took a drink, put the glass down, and refilled it from the bottle.

"Did you not have friends in school?"

"No," she answered without hesitation. "I never stayed long enough to get acquainted with anyone, also I did not want to build relationships in places I knew I would not be staying—it would be too hard to leave." She took a drink, and I saw her eyes twinkling again. "Plus, I think most of the students were rather intimidated by me." she chuckled.

I tried to imagine her as a teenager. Yes, very intimidating.

"Did you have friends in Oxford, then?" I asked.

"Yes. Several." She answered, but did not abbreviate. Maybe it was a touchy subject with her.

"Is that where you met Snake?"

I had been very interested in their relationship ever since I saw him bring her meds that one day. I knew they were close, but in what way? They did not seem like lovers, they didn't look like each other so they could not have been siblings, she was discussing business with him and those other two men that one day, but a simple business partner did not hang around the house or take trips to France with her. The only logical conclusion I came to was that they were friends.

"No, no." she chuckled. "Don't get me wrong, Snake has brains, but he's never been interested in school. He dropped out as soon as the law permitted it." she waved it off and took a drink from her glass.

"So how do you know him?"

"He's William's boy. You remember William?"

_"…__He was my father's best friend and strongest tie in the White House. He's a good family friend…"_

"Yes."

"William's my godfather. Snake and I have known each other since we were too young to remember. I guess you could call us god siblings." She laughed.

"Funny. They don't look anything alike."

I remembered William, with his curly hair and cute little dimples. I remembered the way he spoke during dinner, his sense of humor and his stories of all of the characters he had met during his time in the White House. I remembered how he had known which utensils to use out of the ones provided to us. I remembered how he had not mentioned a son of even a wife.

"Are they close? William and Snake?"

"My father and I have never been close." Snake's voice intervened, and moments later I felt him settle next to me on the couch. I shifted awkwardly away a few inches.

How the fuck does he keep popping up places like this? And at the worst times, too!

Next to me, I heard him chuckle. "You seem exasperated by my appearance." He was addressing me, I knew, but I did not answer.

Honestly, I was not as exasperated as I was kind of embarrassed to have him find us talking about him, of all people. But Snake did not seem annoyed, so my shoulders relaxed.

"My father has always preferred my younger brother Jessie over myself. I think it has something to do with my not completing school. Can I have some of that?" he gestured to the wine bottle.

Her eyebrows furrowed, her dark eyes sliding from the bottle to Snake's face almost as if trying to decide whether or not she could trust him with it, but eventually she slid it towards him and wordlessly watched as he brought it to his mouth and tipped his head back.

"I didn't think you were still here." she commented in a low voice, obviously addressing only the man sitting next to me.

Snake tore the bottle away from his lips. "You didn't really tell me to go, and I was actually gonna ask you to stay here for the night, but you two disappeared." he smirked, obviously knowing what we had left to do. I was almost expecting him to make a vulgar remark, but like always, he kept his mouth shut. Whether it was because of fear of what Santana would do to him, or actual decency, I never knew.

Santana, for her part, actually managed to look slightly embarrassed.

"Anyway, I heard voices, so I came in here and you guys were talking about me, so…" he leaned back in the couch and clasped his fingers behind his head as if to say 'entertain me'.

"We were having a discussion. Your name just happened to come up." She said, decidedly careless.

"Wow. Way to hurt a guy's ego." Wincing, he sat forward again and took the bottle, taking another long drink from it.

She scrunched her nose at his manners. "You're such a gentleman."

He put the bottle down again and winked at her. "Of the best kind."

* * *

It was late when I got home, too late for anyone to be up.

But that was not the case tonight.

When I walked through the door, the apartment was ablaze with light.

"Artie?" I called out softly.

I heard his wheels squeak as he rolled to me from the living room. I heard a sniffle and my name on a whimper and I turned around to his blotchy face.

I rushed to him. "Baby, what's wrong?"

The broken sobs did nothing to hide his words, or make me feel sorry for him when reveled why he was crying.

* * *

**Here, have a cliffhanger! **

**Just 'cause I'm evil.**

**Anyway, thanks for reviewing and all that jazz. Love ya.**

**Next chapter should be out...when I get it done.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay. So, please forgive me if this chapter is a bit rough on the writing. I haven't written since, like, six months ago. I'm afraid my zone has disappeared. But, I'm seriously trying to move this story along for you all, 'cause I loves you. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

"Where we going?" Timmy whined from his place behind me, rubbing his sleepy blue eyes. I looked at his small, tired face in the rearview mirror.

"We're going to a friend of mine's house." I explained, trying to sound cheerful, as if this was an impromptu sleepover, when it was anything but.

_"I lost it." Artie sobbed. "I lost all of it. The kid's college fund. I gambled it away."_

I slammed on the breaks and turned sharply to avoid missing the turn into her estate.

"Mom!" Ali screeched from the back, started at my sharp turn.

"Sorry." I muttered, swallowing thickly. I had to get it out of my mind. I couldn't let it affect me. Not yet. Thinking about it would bring me no closer to figuring out what to do. But going to her, maybe, would.

"Name?" a robotic voice from the box on the front gate droned jadedly at me, bringing me out of my panicked haze.

"B-Brittany Abrams." I choked out. There was a small pause, like always, before the large gates swung open soundlessly. I pulled through them slowly.

The next couple of minutes were spent in silence as I navigated my way through the maze of roads on her property, before finally the driveway took a deep slope downwards and then sharply inclined up.

Collins was there to greet me in a long, midnight blue robe. The house behind him was not lit, except for the foyer.

"Mrs. Abrams." he addressed me, opening my door after I turned off the car. His kind, happy face made me want to cry, for some reason.

Collins didn't ask me any questions when I opened the car door to reveal my three kids, a fact that made him even more amazing than I already thought he was. He ducked down inside the car, peering at my kids.

Timmy was asleep again, and Traci looked well on her way, too. Only Ali looked back at Collins, an unsure finger raised to her lip as she gazed between his face and mine, as if asking me if she could trust him.

"Hi. I'm Sewald." Collins spoke in an incredibly soft voice with a small smile on his face. He seemed to have a bit of experience with kids. "Can I carry you inside?"

Ali's brown eyes turned to me, asking a silent question. She was so much like her father, always cautious but curious.

I nodded at her with a smile and she reached her hands out towards Collins, who picked her up gently and extracted her from the car. Immediately, her arms locked around his neck and her legs pinned themselves on either sides of his body.

"Do you need help with the other ones?" he asked me in a low voice as Ali fingered the silky material of his robe at the collar. I shook my head and he nodded, starting towards the steps leading to the front door.

I made quick to follow him, grabbing both of my sleeping angels and meeting him at the front door. We stepped inside together and I heard Ali extract on amazed 'woah' under her breath.

Collins wordlessly started up the marble staircase and I followed close behind, watching as Ali restlessly swiveled around in her carrier's arms to get a good look around.

The only sound in the house was the shuffling of our feet on the marble and the distant sound of phones ringing. I wonder if the operators ever slept.

The staircase ended and the floor morphed into thick red carpet, completely silencing our footsteps. Collins turned to the left and made his way to the third door from the end of the staircase.

"The bedroom is a one person," he explained sheepishly, "We don't really have any that hold families, but the bed is a king size, I'm sure you will all fit in it."

I nodded my thanks and he pushed the door open, revealing a large bedroom that was nearly bare except for gigantic bed in the center and the lights on the wall and the curtained windows. It was perfect.

Collins set Ali down on the bed gently and turned to me. "Breakfast is served in the meeting room, usually. We can arrange it to be brought up to the bedroom if you prefer. The mistress will, of course, be visiting you in the morning. If you need me at any time, use the phone on the bedside table." he told me. "Have a nice night, Mrs. Abrams." With one last bow, he exited the room, shutting the door silently behind him.

I deposited Timmy and Traci on the bed, pushing back the covers and tucking them in as gently as I could, trying not to disturb them. Ali crawled across the white duvet and tucked herself into the linen sheets also, pressing herself close to her brother so that he was sandwiched between both of this sisters. She sighed happily, her eyes drooping, and within moments, she joined her kin in dreamland.

I pushed back the covers, stripped my jeans, and crawled into bed also. The bed sheets were cool and obviously freshly washed, smelling like some sort of flower. I liked it. I hugged my kids to me and joined them in sleep.

* * *

A knock on the door woke me up.

"Who is it?" I blearily looked at the clock beside the telephone on the bedside table. Well past ten. Huh.

"Breakfast." was my only response. The voice was so muffled it was not recognizable, but I unwillingly left the warmth of the sheets and trudged to the door.

"Gooood mooorning!" Snake sung enthusiastically, entering the bedroom. In his hands was a very large tray with several cloche-covered dishes.

I balked at him for a moment, but he paid me no mind as he strutted into my bedroom.

"Mister Bartholomew, please." Collins rushed inside behind Snake, carrying a chrome tray stand and looking rather peeved.

_Bartholomew?_

"Oh hush, Collins," Snake tutted in an amused voice, "Santana said I could. Other people can do things like this, not just butlers. Besides," he set the tray on the tray stand and clapped the older man on the shoulder affectionately, smiling cheekily. "You need to take it easy, and I'm young."

Collins raised a brow, an usual gesture. "Are you calling me old, Master Bartholomew?"

Snake smirked. "Don't call me Bartholomew and I won't call you old." he declared.

"But it is your name." Collins pointed out.

"And it is _your_ condition." Snake fired back with a teasing glint in his eye.

Collins rolled his eyes, but said nothing more. Snake turned to me.

"Hi, Britt." he chirped, grinning at me with his pearly whites. He seemed to be a morning person. I smiled back at him.

"Hey, Snake." I said easily, wrapping my tongue around the nickname instead of the real first name at the last-minute. This was truly hilarious.

"We got you breakfast," he pointed out. "Didn't know what you wanted so we got pretty much everything. Hope your kids are okay with chocolate chip pancakes. They were my idea."

He seemed proud of this fact.

"Mommy?" Traci's drowsy voice rang out from behind me. Instantly, Snake perked up, peering at her past my shoulder.

I turned around to her and made my way to the bed.

"Good morning, sweetie." I cooed. She blinked sleepily at me, yawning.

"Where we?" she asked, rubbing her eye with a tiny fist.

"A friend's house." I told her. Behind me I heard 'Casa de Lopez' whispered by Snake. I rolled my eyes in amusement at his nickname for the mansion.

"Do you want breakfast?" I asked her, stroking her brown hair absentmindedly. She nodded.

Wordlessly, I saw Collins move to the tray, removing the shiny cloches covering the dishes. He picked up the individual plates and carried them towards the bed, setting them down on the white duvet.

My daughter's eyes widened. The 'chocolate chip pancakes' were barely pancakes at all, but rather circular patties of chocolate held together by a thin layer of dough. I glanced sharply at Snake, who grinned at me, not at all apologetic.

"I told the chef to put in extra chocolate chips."

"I see that." I said as Traci dived into the chocolate 'breakfast'.

* * *

Snake and Collins both escorted us to the meeting room after breakfast. My kids oohed and ahhed at the interior of the mansion when we walked through it, and Timmy asked Snake to identify all the rooms that we passed, something that the green-haired man was more than happy to oblige to.

Snake tried hard to hide his enamor for my children, he really did. But there really was no denying that he adored kids. Especially Timmy.

When we arrived at the meeting room, a shot of cold panic ran through me. I didn't know what would happen. I knew I would have to explain my late night visit to her, and probably explain what happened with Artie. I could do that, sure. But what would happen next? Would she let us stay here until the storm settled?

Collins knocked on the heavy wooden door, and a few seconds later there was a muffled, 'come in, come in' from the inside, spoken by her sharp voice. She sounded busy, like always, but Collins seemed to pay this no mind as he dutifully held open the door for the five of us to inter.

She sat at the far end of the table, facing the door. The Toshiba she used sat in front of her, largely ignored but opened. She rose when we entered and smiled at us in a way I had never seen her smile before.

"Brittany. Hi."

* * *

**There you go. I've been gone for more than half a year and I give you a chapter of less than two thousand words that ends on a cliff hanger. Like. A. Evil. Boss.**

**Anywho, I'm actually really proud of this chapter. Especially the Collins/Snake bit in the middle there. It made me happy just writing it. Don't know why.**

**I think I'm back on the train again. Expect the next chapter within the next week, or month. But not half-year.**

**Love you, mean it.**

**-Nints**


	9. Chapter 9

**So, here's the next chapter, yo. Told y'all it would not take me a half-year ta get it out. Also, the morning after chapter 8 went out, there was nearly a thousand of you that has visited/read it. I love y'all. Another thing I realized... last chapter came out on the one year anniversary of the beginning of this story. That's too swag.**

**This chapter is nothing but character building and warm fuzzies. Very laid-back. Next chapter should get things moving again.**

* * *

"So, I believe you owe me an explanation." She said, closing the double doors to the Louis livingroom, as I had begun to name it as.

Collins and Trent, who had been introduced to Ali, Traci, and Timmy shortly after breakfast, had taken the kids out on the grounds after all three of them saw the lake from the wall of glass in her meeting room and wanted to swim. Snake had wanted to go desperately, but she had summoned him to talk with us.

_"But I –" Snake threw a pleading look to the door, which had closed only moments before as Collins and Trent exited with my three bundles of energy._

_"Snake, please. You know something needs to be done about this." She rubbed her temples with delicate fingers. "You are the man of the house. We need to discuss this together."_

_"Man of the house, you say?" he arched a brow, catching on her slip._

_She smiled thinly at him, and I felt as if I was interrupting a legendary moment. Santana Lopez, letting someone else on running her estate and make decisions with her._

_"Yeah. You are, brother."_

I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed deeply.

A light, reassuring hand landed on my thigh, and I nodded at Snake in thanks for his comforting gesture. It amazed me, because a month ago I would have been offended by a man touching me so openly. But now, it was just Snake. Goofy, caring Snake.

She sat across the coffee table from Snake and I and pinned me with a look that was both understanding and vigilant.

"My husband," I began, and then stopped, wincing at the word. The hand on my thigh squeezed lightly. "A-Artie, he gambled the kids' college fund."

A part of me scowled. Was this really that big of a deal? Was it worth taking my kids away and running into the arms of another?

"Bastard." I heard Snake growl beside me. Absentmindedly, I placed a hand on top of his on my thigh and he laced our fingers together. A part of my brain said that this was a rather intimate act, but the bigger part of me knew that Snake and I were nothing but the equivalent siblings to each other.

"And what do you think you will do about that?" She asked gently, but her eyes were sharp as she studied my face.

"I have _no_ idea." I relented, on the verge of tears.

"It's alright, we'll figure it out." Snake decided.

She nodded in agreement. "And until we do, you and your children will continue to stay here, with me."

"Us." Snake chimed in. She smiled that same thin smile at him.

"Right. Us."

At that moment there was a knock on the door from the outside hall.

"Come in." She instructed, relaxing back into the sofa.

The drenched, grinning face of Trent poked inside. "Mistress. I hope I am not interrupting. But-" he cut off, ducking behind the door again, "Cut it out!" he ordered playfully to something behind him before reappearing. "The young ladies and gentleman would like to see their mother."

She smiled broadly, nodding at her servant. "Let them in. Of course."

The door opened wider and the three of them shuffled in, sopping to the bone and grinning bashfully. I smiled back at them and opened my arms.

"Did you have fun with Mr. Trent and Mr. Collins?" I asked once they were tucked away in my embrace. All three heads nodded at me eagerly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her evaluating the scene with an almost curious gaze that was at the same time hesitant. I turned my kids to face her.

"What do you say to Miss Lopez?"

"Thank you." They chorused at her automatically. She smiled in a restrained way, as if trying to keep face for somebody, but her eyes told the real story. They lit up in a way I had never seen before, and if eye color turned with mood I was sure they would be golden.

"You're welcome." she said in a breathy voice.

"Mistress," Collins called out from the door, as Snake made a careful move behind Timmy in order to surprise-grab him. I watched as he put a finger to his lips at the girls, who were watching him warily. Traci raised a brow devilishly at him, and then narrowed her eyes on her brother, clearly about to tell him about Snake's plans.

The green man noticed this too and shook his head, making 'cut' motions at his throat, and put his hands together in a silent prayer once he noticed that they did no good. I rolled my eyes at his silly, childish behavior. He really was a great guy, and would turn out to be a fantastic father someday.

I saw her motion for Collins to come closer, and then I almost snorted because he was just as drenched as the kids and his polished shoes made audible squishing noises when he made his way across the living room. He leaned over her shoulder and whispered in her ear. She raised a brow and nodded, and then he whispered something else to her but she waved him away with a familiar motion of her hand.

"No, no. I'm busy right now. Tell him I'll get back to him." I heard her mutter, followed by a loud squeal from my son that marked Snake's surprise-grab plan succeeding.

* * *

Lunch came and went, marked by several more trips down to the lake. This time involving Snake, much to his glee. Collins departed after his third dip in the water, and she graciously excused him from duty for a few hours.

"Go take a nap, Sewald." she suggested, raising a hand and silencing him when he opened his mouth in protest. "No, no. I insist. Go."

I had never seen her excuse a butler before. I didn't even think it could be done.

Snake, of course, had a field-day teasing Collins from the lake about his age when he saw the older man making his way up towards the house. The green haired man was promptly pounced on by my son, which served to occupy him enough to let the majordomo go in peace.

After about five, Collins returned, swearing up and down that he rested. Swears which fell on deaf ears because even I knew that Collins was not the type to ever rest.

_"There's always work to be done in the house, Madame, and it is my job to do it. Why, I have some seven men working under me, and I have to make sure they don't slack off. The mistress expects excellence."_

_We were sitting in the meeting room in a rare moment of companionship, drinking lemon tea together. It was early morning and the dew on the grass made her rolling hills sparkle like diamonds. She was not up yet, as it was well before her regular time of getting up._

_"How long have you been working for her, Collins?" I asked._

_A small smile spread on his lips, accentuating the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. _

_"I was hired by Sir Florentino Lopez to be her nanny." he explained. "I was thirty years old. I didn't have a family of my own, I didn't have a job. So when the offer came, I took it."_

_He took a soundless sip of his tea, and in his eyes I could see that he was traveling into the past._

_"She was a lonely child. Very hardheaded, very focused on her goals. Florentino never loved her. She never loved him, either. They had an understanding. But, she was very fond of me. _

_Pretty soon, she didn't need a nanny at all. She honestly could take care of herself. But she kept me around, and I was happy for the job, and completely charmed by her." _

_He laughed then. "How could one not be? Anyway, eventually, she moved out and went to Oxford. Made me follow her. I didn't care, I still didn't have a family of my own. Her father died in her third year, and everything fell on her. But that was alright. She was ready. She graduated and immediately went back to the States to settle. Built this house, made me the head of it for sticking with her for so long."_

_He looked at me. "You must understand, she is like a daughter to me. I have been under her service her whole entire life. I know her better than anyone, and I still don't know a whole lot. She's very closed off, needs a little prying. She'll open up to you eventually._

She smiled up at Collins in a way that told him he was not fooling anyone and he immediately dropped the act with a meek shrug.

Just then, a shirtless, dripping Bartholomew stumbled up the hill to where we sat. Timmy was slung over his shoulder easily, squealing loudly and the girls were following him closely, trying to climb on him as if he was a jungle gym. His designer jeans were rolled up to the knees and clung to him in a surely uncomfortable fashion.

"Hey. When are we having supper? I'm famished." he called to us over Timmy's squealing.

I was actually about to ask the same thing. I watched as Bartholomew deposited my son on the grass to stop his screeching.

"Now, if you want. The table is set and Mr. Holgate is finishing the roast as we speak." Collins informed him after the silence was granted to us.

She raised a brow. "You were, uh, _resting,_ during all of this, Collins?" she teased. The elder butler nodded seriously.

"Sleepworking, ma'am."

* * *

After dinner Collins escorted Timmy and I to one of the bathrooms at the end of the hall for bath time, as was customary in my house. The girls were old enough to bathe themselves, but I had gone with them previously to turn on the water and make sure they would be okay.

I had to keep in a gasp when he turned on the light.

The bathroom itself was bigger than the kids' room, partially gleaming white tile that looked brand new, and partially crimson hotel wallpaper. The floor was the same white color as the tiles on the wall, but seemed to be of a different stone. The tub was not standalone, but in fact built in and had three steps leading up to it. The shower was on the far left corner and was big enough to fit ten. The toilet was gleaming and looked to have never been used.

After the girls were settled in the water, I left them and ran into Trent, who I had not seen since after lunch.

"Hey. Where you headed?" he asked easily. I gestured to the bathroom.

"Bathtime. Just settled the girls in." I said. He nodded.

"Do you need anything?"

I thought about this for a moment. "Yeah, actually. You have any kid's shampoo?" I was only half-joking. All three of my kids had very sensitive eyes.

He grinned at me. "You're in luck. I do."

I balked at him and he laughed lightly. "I steal it from my little sisters."

"You have sisters?"

"Yeah. Four of 'em. I like the way it smells. No grown up shampoo smells as good as kids shampoo."

That was true. He smiled at me again. "I'll go get it. Be back in a minute."

I looked to my son, who had been patiently waiting for his bath. He tilted his head at me, blue eyes sparkling. I kissed his head and pushed open the door to the bathroom. Once inside I started the water, checking the temperature to make sure it was warm enough. Timmy was an overall sensitive child, his skin and eyes especially, which made him very picky when it came to things like temperature of water and even foods. When he was a baby, it was a nightmare weaning him. He refused to eat pretty much everything.

I had undressed him and put him in the water before there was a knock on the door and a hand stuck inside the room, holding a bright bottle of shampoo. I chuckled at Trent's resistance to enter the bathroom, as if my son cared. Regardless, I rose and crossed the room, taking the bottle from him.

"Thanks, Trent." I called.

"No problem." The hand disappeared. "Tell me if you need anything else."

I hummed my answer and returned to the bath side, where Timmy was lightly pawning the water, but not splashing it. Carefully, I cupped my hands and gathered water in them.

"Ready?" I asked him, and immediately he scrunched his face up, closing his eyes tightly as if the water would hurt him. I poured it slowly, lightly on his fine blond hair, matting it to his head the way it had been for most of the day.

I repeated the process several times and then poured a small glob of shampoo into my hand, rubbing it to head it up, and then ran my soapy hands through his hair, gathering it in a faux hawk and making him giggle.

We didn't talk through the rest of his bath. Bartholomew had really worn my boy out, it seemed, and I was very aware that his own father had never dedicated a whole day to play with him the way Snake had. Maybe if I did end up staying here permanently, my kids would always have several adults who were more than happy to give every bit of their time and energy to love on them.

* * *

**Okay. This is my limit. This chapter, and the last, are dedicated to the victims and families of victims and the whole city of Boston, who have suffered an unfair fate. You are loved and I pray for you. **

**Make every day last with your loved ones, y'all.**

**P.S. on a lighter note, I have another story started, "Throw Away" in which I will be collecting snippets of moments, a lot of them background moments from this story. Some will be random things I write, that have nothing to do with this verse.**

**Go check it out.**


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